


Five Times Bofur Gave Bilbo His Hat, And The One Time Bilbo Took It

by sum_nemo



Category: The Hobbit (2012), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Hats, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-21
Updated: 2013-04-22
Packaged: 2017-11-21 22:31:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 27,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/602798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sum_nemo/pseuds/sum_nemo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I took a prompt on the kink meme and ran with it further than requested. Prompt was:</p><p>At some point on the journey, things get a little ugly and battle is done. Bilbo, who still isn't terrific with a sword, is told to hang back or stay somewhere safe. (Or maybe he's guarding the ponies, whatevs.)</p><p>Just before going with them, Bofur takes his hat off. And puts it on Bilbo's head. Because these are the two things he wants to keep safe.</p><p>So, here are the many times Bofur gave Bilbo his hat to keep him safe and happy, and the one time Bilbo took it to make Bofur feel safe and happy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Memories of Smoke

The first night after the eagles saved Bilbo and the dwarves was a clear one, starlight bright enough to illuminate the tops of the trees of Mirkwood forest, visible on the horizon. The massive forest would disappear from sight, Bilbo guessed, once they were on low ground again. It was maybe a two day walk on foot and fortunately for Bilbo, his feet were well prepared for such a walk. The same could not be said of some of the dwarves, whose boots were designed to protect from orc attacks, dropped tools and hot metal freshly smelted. Such boots would not be comfortable for long days of walking. Though, those with older boots, worn leather softened and shaped to their feet would be better off.  _Oddly_ , Bilbo thought to himself, _having old yet soft boots might be one of the few times it was better to be poorer than richer. Not that boots look at all comfortable._    
  
Bilbo wrinkled his nose briefly. It had been so long since he’d seen the bare feet of another. If the dwarves were to take their boots off at all, which some did when they slept, they kept their socks on. It was an unexpected reminder of how far from home he was.  
  
Home. Bilbo once again began thinking of what decades upon decades of feeling as he was now would be like. Feeling like a boat drifting down river with no where to dock. Bilbo could, at least, take comfort in small things that reminded him of the Shire. One such thing was smoking his pipe-weed in the evening. Sadly, while his pipe remained in his inner jacket pocket, the pipe-weed was lost with the ponies. Bilbo’s clothes always had the sweet, acrid smell of smoke at home, as did most Hobbits’ clothes. Along with the sweet smell of grass in spring, it was a very distinct scent that permeated the Shire. On the road, pipe-weed smoke was just an undercurrent beneath sweat, dirt, pony and the strange herbal mixture the dwarves smoked.  
  
The stars looked the same, at least, as they did at home. Bilbo pulled out his pipe, glad to see that it had one good smoke left. His last try at smoking it had been interrupted by rain, so there was weed leftover. Bilbo walked over to the campfire Fili had just set up, nodding at Balin who was preparing dinner. Bilbo lit his pipe, then walked away to the far edge of camp. While Gandalf was also a fan of pipe-weed, the dwarves had no taste for it, nor the smell it created. They preferred a different grass, one with a much sweeter smell and taste.  
  
Gandalf had also run out of pipe-weed, though Bilbo doubted it had the same existential impact upon the wizard as it did upon him.   
  
The wind barely brushed Bilbo’s cheeks as he breathed in the bittersweet smoke. Staring at the starts, he puffed out a series of smoke rings. The stars appeared to be circled in smoke, and Bilbo half smiled. He and his cousins had first taught themselves to blow smoke rings on a night much like this, each having raided their parents stashes for the nice, smooth weed, not the usual harsher variety many in their tweens smoked. Caught up in his memories of the Shire, Bilbo didn’t notice Bofur until he spoke.  
  
“I dunno how ye can smoke that. It smells right awful.” Bilbo jumped slightly, and turned towards the now grinning dwarf.   
  
“Have you tried it? It tastes better than it smells”  
  
“I don’t know how ye could bring yourself to smoke it in the first place, just based on the smell. Besides, I doubt it clears the lungs like dwarven grass” Bofur replied, looking at the pipe with suspicion. Bilbo took another puff, and blew out yet another set of rings, careful to blow away from Bofur.  
  
“Most Hobbits like the smell of pipe-weed. I certainly can’t remember a time when I didn’t smell it on a daily basis. My parents and everyone they knew certainly had a lingering scent of it when I was growing up.”  
  
“I did notice the odd smell in your hole. Ah, well, each to their own. Most dwarves smell strongly of metal and coal, which I’ve been told is less than pleasing to others’ noses”  
  
Bilbo looked bemused. “I hadn’t noticed.”   
  
“Aye, well, we’ve all been long out of our smithies and mines, haven’t we? There’s no smell like a well run smith, or metal and rock hundreds of feet under the earth” Bofur had a faraway look, not quite focused on the fading smoke rings drifting up towards the stars.  
  
“Would you like a try” Bilbo asked, holding out his pipe.  
  
“Oh, no. It’d put me off my dinner. Dinner! I was supposed to tell you it’s almost ready.”  
  
Bilbo looked back to the fire at the centre of camp. Most of the dwarves, less the guards, were already gathered there. Bilbo sighed, licked his thumb, then stamped out the fire in his weed. It would have stopped burning without the airflow brought through when Bilbo inhaled, but he wanted to ensure that not a puff was lost before he could smoke it.  
  
Bofur watched Bilbo, curious about his strange pipe habits.  
  
“Ye haven’t smoked in a few nights” He commented, as they neared the fire. Bilbo could feel the warmth from the flames as he got his share of the rabbit stew Balin had made. Bofur made to sit near Bombur, and Bilbo followed.  
  
“Well, I haven’t had time to as of late. And since my pipe-weed was lost along with the ponies, I suspect this will be the last time I smoke for a very long time”.   
  
With that, Bilbo looked away and began to focus on his dinner. The stew was surprisingly good given their current situation. Kili must have killed some plump rabbits, since the stew was full of meaty flavour. As he stared his stew down, Bifur came over and sat next to Bombur, chatting away in that old dwarvish tongue Bilbo couldn’t understand. Well, to be fair, the other dwarves could only half understand him, so Bilbo wasn’t much better off.  
  
Bofur looked towards the hobbit, whose shoulders were hunched as he determinedly stared at his stew.  
  
“Did I ever tell ye the time Bombur, Bifur and I made off with the hindquarters of a cow?”  
  
“The time you what? How do you only take the back half of a cow?”  
  
“Well, ye see, the cow was already dead, and the butcher had tried to pay me with some counterfeit silver for some large knives. Well, I accepted those coins, since I wasn’t in a place to make a fuss about it. Why he thought dwarves wouldn’t be able to tell the difference between solid metal and gilded coin I’ll never know. Bombur distracted the butcher while Bifur I took the difference in what he owed us out of his cellar.”  
  
Bifur grinned at this, and chattered out a series of syllables Bilbo’s teeth hurt to hear. But Bifur sounded proud, so Bilbo assumed it had something to do with how they achieved such a task, and he smiled and nodded. Bofur commented back to Bifur something about idiots who don’t understand silver, and Bombur turned to Bilbo with a comment about how they cooked that beef. From there the conversation turned to Bofur and Bombur’s youth.   
  
Dinner passed quickly, as more dwarves joined in and the conversation turned to how incompetent many smiths were in the lands of men. Even the lowliest dwarven apprentice smith is as skilled as men’s most skilled blacksmiths, the dwarves assured the hobbit. The skills of dwarven smithcraft were lauded until it was time for the sentries to shift, signalling it was time to sleep. Dwalin and Ori headed out of camp as Gloin and Nori sat down to finish off what remained of the stew.   
  
Bilbo lay down on a soft patch of grass, wrapping his cloak around himself as a blanket. He put his hands under his head as a makeshift pillow, but, alas, it was not enough for the hobbit. He shifted positions a few times as Bofur settled down beside him.  
  
“Would ye like me hat? As a pillow, I mean. Dwarves are by far more used to sleeping in hard places than hobbits, I’d wager” Bofur offered earnestly.  
  
“I couldn’t possibly accept” Bilbo replied.  
  
Bofur paid his comment little attention as he took his hat off and handed it to Bilbo.

“Our burglar needs his sleep” is all he said. As Bilbo hesitated, Bofur’s smile slid into an anxious frown. Before he could speak again, Bilbo reached for the hat,  _it wouldn’t do to offend him_  Bilbo thought, before thanking Bofur for his generosity.  
  
Bofur smiled widely, then settled down to sleep, closing his eyes as he pulled his cloak around his shoulders. Bilbo placed the hat under his head. It smelled smoky, like coal, and with a faint must that could only be Bofur’s unique scent. It was homey in an alien way, so very different from Bilbo’s pipe-weed. As Bilbo ruminated on how something so strange could seem so familiar, he fell into a deep sleep.  
  
As soon as Bilbo’s breathing slowed down, Bofur leaned up on one arm to watch the sleeping Hobbit. Across from the two of them, Nori was watching the entire exchange. Nori tapped the ground to get Bofur’s attention, then made a face as he mouthed words that sounded, muffled by distance, a lot like “Rue Glove”. Bofur just shrugged. Nori, not having gotten the response he wanted, followed up with a rather rude gesture aimed at both Bilbo and Bofur. This Bofur returned with another rude gesture, this time aimed at Nori, the shrub behind him, and Bombur’s battle spoon. Nori’s eyes went wide, not believing such a thing to be physically possible, before turning to Dori, nudging him, and pointing at the sleeping Bilbo.  
  
Dori’s eyes, drawn first to the hat, flickered up to Bofur, who remained unrepentant. Dori then nudged Nori and said some quiet, yet heated words. The then two lay down to sleep. Bofur watched Bilbo a moment more, before lying down once again.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much to Melvin for being my beta and soundboard, and for getting the advanced showing tix with such enthusiasm and haste. <3


	2. Rainy Day

Bilbo woke up the next morning feeling fresh from a good nights sleep. _Never would I have guessed I’d feel well rested after a night sleeping on the ground_ , he thought to himself as he stretched. From the smells coming from the fire at the centre of camp, Bilbo guessed breakfast was to be leftover rabbit stew. He looked around to see who in camp was awake. Thorin was staring intensely towards Mirkwood Forest and the plains before it. Bilbo noticed that the sky, which was clear the night before, now had dark clouds approaching from behind the forest. 

 

Bombur was near the campfire tending to breakfast. Bilbo could see the skins of two rabbits that had not been there the night before. _Dwalin must have killed them while on watch_ , he guessed, as he stood up and stretched out his legs. Dwalin and Ori were still asleep along with many other dwarves. Kili and Fili were sitting near Bombur, chatting quietly, casting furtive glances at their uncle. It reminded him of how he and his cousins used to gossip about their elders. _Had Smaug not invaded, they might have caused many headaches for all their relatives, Thorin included._ Bilbo thought, remembering the way his own aunts and uncles spoke of him as a tween, especially those on the Baggins’ side of the family.That line of thought was soon cast away as Bilbo remembered he ought to return the hat to Bofur. Bilbo picked the hat up and turned, only to see Bofur still asleep.

 

It was odd seeing him hatless. He didn’t seem as old as Bilbo first assumed. Bofur shifted a little in his sleep and pulled his cloak tighter. Bilbo fidgeted with the hat in his hands. After another moment of considering Bofur’s sleeping form, Bilbo went to check out breakfast still carrying the hat. Bombur, who looked up when he approached, noticed the hat immediately.

 

“Why’ve ye got Bofur’s hat? Did it come off his head in his sleep? He’ll be missing it heartily if that’s the case” Bombur said, as he pulled out one of the few bowls to serve Bilbo some stew.

 

 Bilbo took it in one hand, and replied “He lent it to me last night. I’ll return it once he wakes”

 

“He lent it to you” Bombur echoed, his voice flat.

 

“Well, yes. I am not as deep a sleeper as he is” Bilbo looked to the still sleeping Bofur, “and he was kind enough to offer it as a pillow”. 

 

Bombur looked at him suspiciously, but only hummed ambiguously in response. Bilbo didn’t know what to make of that, so he just offered a shaky smile in return. Kili and Fili, who had been silent during this exchange, grinned at one another. _Headaches, the both of them_ , Bilbo thought, anticipating some sort of mischief. He knew what that sort of grin meant. Dwarvish youth or hobbit tweenager, it doesn’t matter: grins like that lead to headaches in sensible adults.

 

“So, how long as Bofur been _lending you his hat?_ ” Kili inquired, false sincerity spread across his smile.

 

“Surely it can’t have been long, you’d think one of us would have heard _something_ ” Fili followed with, waggling his eyebrows.

 

Bilbo eyed them for a moment before replying, “He lent it to me to help me sleep, I’ll be giving it back shortly”

 

“Can we watch?” Kili said, elbowing Fili, who was laughing into his sleeve. 

 

“Now, I don’t know what you’re getting at but —“ Bilbo began, only to be interrupted by Bofur’s voice from behind him.

 

“How’d ye sleep Mister Baggins?”

 

Kili and Fili had dissolved into silent giggles at this point. Bilbo turned around careful not to spill his cooling stew. “Very well, thank you.”

 

Bilbo held out the hat to Bofur, who took it and put it on his head with his free hand. It took him a moment to align it properly, having to tug it down from the back of his neck by reaching awkwardly behind his head. Bilbo made to grab Bofur’s stew, so he might use both hands, but before he could Bofur was done arranging his hat. 

 

“How’s breakfast then? The usual for Bombur’s cooking?”

 

“Ah, well. I haven’t gotten around to trying it yet”

 

“Well, then, we’d best get on with eating. There aren’t enough bowls to go around ye know. It’s best if we finish before the others wake.”

 

Bilbo nodded, then made to sit far enough away from Fili and Kili that he couldn’t hear more of their gossip. Bofur sat next to Bilbo and began to eat. Bilbo followed in kind, and the two sat in silence until they were done. After handing their bowls back to Bombur Bilbo turned to Bofur and said, “Surely, you can just call me Bilbo. At this point last names are a bit too formal”

 

Bofur gave him a surprisingly bashful grin and said “Aye, Bilbo.” He paused a moment before suggesting they both go have a quick smoke before they head out on the road again.

 

“And if ye need more grass for yer pipe, I’ll happily give you some. It’s not the same as your odd hobbit weed, but it’s pleasant enough” he said as he lit his own pipe with fire from the cooking pit.

 

“I may take you up on that,”

 

The two went off downwind of the camp and smoked in silence watching the darks clouds billow and grow in the distance. Bilbo savoured the taste of pipe-weed, not knowing how long it would be until he could smoke it again.

***

Thorin was grim as they all marched towards Mirkwood. He spoke quietly with Balin about the elves, moving quickly despite his injuries. Earlier, as they’d set out from their camp, Thorin had said “I suppose long walks are yet another thing you’ve got a talent for?” as he looked at Bilbo’s feet. Bilbo spent the rest of the morning trying to decide if that was a compliment, an insult, or friendly teasing. 

 

The walk, though easier for the hobbit than for others such as Dwalin, was not the most pleasant one. The ground underneath wasn’t even like the rolling hills of the Shire. There were rocks jutting out from the earth in random places, with pockmarks in the valley making the ground awkward to walk on at times. The wind blew through the grass, stronger than it had been as they left the mountains. Bilbo looked forward to reaching Mirkwood, though he doubted they’d make it there before it rained. He walked near Gloin who spoke of his wife and son. As soon as the two were mentioned, Oin let out a long suffering sigh, put his hearing trumpet in his coat pocket, and fell back to be closer to Dwalin.

 

“Aye, and Gimli will grow up to be a great warrior. I have no doubt about that. He has his mother’s arms, thank goodness. She can pump the bellows all on her own! Most dwarvish lads need a partner, you know. That’s what attracted me to her in the first place. I was visiting her father’s forge to have my axe repaired and there she was, cheek smeared with soot working the bellows. Well, her father saw me looking and threatened me in the most inventive ways, as fathers are wont to do, as you well know” here Gloin stopped, waiting for Bilbo to agree with him, before continuing.

 

“I courted her in the most proper fashion, though it scandalized my family. They’d planned to set me up with a nice young noble lass, but they’re few and far between, and none of them were as lovely as my wife. Her father must have thought I was looking for a dalliance, because he did his best to chase me off. But, when I offered her an old family heirloom, a ring with a sapphire the size of a robin’s egg, he changed his tune. I don’t think my mother’s forgiven me for choosing her to this day, not that she’d ever say, because she’s so enamoured with my Gimli.”

 

Here Gloin beamed like any proud father would. Bilbo, who had yet to hear about Gloin’s family, inquired about his son. And off Gloin went on another tangent about his son’s skill with the axe.

 

Bofur and Bombur spent the morning talking with Bifur, and Bilbo could only understand part of their conversation. Earlier Bofur had explained Bilbo that Bifur could only speak an ancient dwarvish tongue, a problem caused by an axe to the head. Unfortunately, many dwarves only partially make out what Bifur said despite knowing the language, and so familiarity lead to much of the brothers’ understanding when they spoke with their cousin. The other dwarves could only make out about half of what Bifur said, so Bilbo felt less out of place for understanding little beyond gestures and tone of voice. 

 

By midday the dark clouds had spread from the horizon to hang ominously above Thorin’s company. The clouds darkened the field around them; the grass, tall and sharp, went from a hay like yellow to almost grey. Bilbo brushed it with his fingers, tempted to snap some off and take it home with him. It was unimaginable to him that the green grass, soft and well kept in the Shire, could have a wild cousin like these blades that surrounded him. He almost thought it to be a different plant entirely, but was convinced it was grass once the clouds opened up and rain began to fall. That wet grass smelled the same, regardless of what it looks like, was a comforting thought. Bilbo hunched his shoulders and tried to pull his hood over his head. However, the hood would not stay up.

 

Suddenly he felt something warm and dry drop onto his head. It was Bofur’s hat. Bofur pulled it down around Bilbo’s ears with a smile. 

 

“There ye go Bilbo. Nice and dry, eh?”

 

“Bofur, I can’t accept this! Surely you should be wearing your hat” Bilbo protested, though he was glad to have the extra protection from the rain, and the warmth. The hat kept the rain off the top of his head, and the large flaps provided some shelter for his neck and shoulders.

 

“Well now, yer the one who needs to use his head the most, aren’t ye?” Bofur asked, and Bilbo nodded quietly. “Then ye should have yer head kept safest.”

 

This was said with an air of finality which left no room for discussion. Bofur fell in step with Bilbo as the wind raged on, and the raindrops fell fat and cold onto Thorin’s company. The ground turned to mud, loosening stones beneath their feet, making the march more treacherous. The air smelled of rain, mud and wet grass, a smell that Bilbo knew would permeate their clothes if the weather kept up.

 

The rain slowed after a while, though it didn’t stop. Thorin had ordered the company to travel in double time, something some dwarves like Ori and Oin had difficulty with, though they persevered. Once the rain had lightened, Bilbo offered Bofur his hat back, but Bofur refused.  The dwarves, especially Kili, Fili and Nori, continued to give Bilbo strange side glances. Bilbo attributed it to him looking silly in the hat, _though,_ he thought, _I cannot possibly look silly enough to gain Bombur’s attention to the point where he’s managed to trip himself three times_. Even Ori and Dori had spent some time staring at him. Ori had almost spoken with Bilbo about it, before stopping himself mid sentence, choosing instead to comment about Bofur’s generosity and kind spirit. Soon after this the other dwarves began teasing Bofur. 

 

“Now, is this the first you’ve had your hair washed in years, Bofur?” Kili asked, before being shooed off by his uncle. Bombur from further back in line yelled out “I don’t think I’ve seen the top of yer head since the day ye were born.”.

 

This sort of thing continued until Thorin pulled Bofur up to the front to have a conversation with him. Bilbo waited a while, then snuck up near the front to hear what was being said. _It wouldn’t do for Bofur to get in trouble on my account. I’d hoped Thorin was past thinking I needed constant help_. 

 

“It better not distract you from our goal” Thorin said, though what “it” was, Bilbo had missed.

 

“It won’t. Besides, I don’t even know if there is anything to distract me” Bofur said defensively.

 

“Even wondering is enough of a distraction. Make sure you stay focused,” Thorin replied, and Bofur bowed his head in agreement. 

 

Thorin noticed Bilbo, and gave him a curt nod.

 

“We should reach the edge of Mirkwood before nightfall. With luck we’ll find some dry wood in the undergrowth” he said, before falling back to have words with Fili and Kili. Judging from their facial expressions, those words were stern and corrective.

 

“What was that all about?” Bilbo asked. Bofur looked past Bilbo as he said “Oh, nothing very serious. Nothing ye need be concerned about, at any rate” He looked in Bilbo’s eyes and smiled a sad smile, before saying “it likely won’t turn out to be anything at all, so why talk of it?”

 

Bilbo nodded uncertainly, then changed the topic of conversation. “Is Gloin the only married man here?”

 

“Aye, he is. Unless you are, and we don’t know about it?” Bofur said teasingly.

 

“No. No, I’m not. I’ve never been much the marrying type,” Bilbo said, “I’m too much a bachelor, I suppose.”

 

“I can understand that” Bofur said, sounding relieved, before drawing the conversation away to Bombur’s youthful escapades with girls who worked the kitchens in Erebor.

 

***

 

It was an hour after dark when Thorin’s company reached the edge of Mirkwood. Kili and Fili were ordered to try and find dry wood, as the rest set up camp on the edge of the forest. The rain had stopped to a drizzle. Beneath some of the larger trees, the ground was damp, though not muddy. Once they were out of the rain, Bilbo offered Bofur his hat back yet again.

 

“Ye should keep it for the night. It’ll help ye sleep,” Bofur insisted.

 

“But you’re on first watch!” Bilbo replied, and Bofur just shook his head. 

 

“Keep it for the night.” Bofur walked off before Bilbo could continue his argument. Bofur knew this watch would be difficult, since it was hard not to look at how adorable the hobbit was wearing his hat. It certainly didn’t help that Bofur got a rush of possessiveness seeing the hobbit in his clothes.

 

Meanwhile, out of earshot of Bilbo, Dori and Ori were having an argument.

 

“I cannot believe you wrote their antics down” Dori said, disapprovingly.

 

“Well, it’s a part of the adventure. All great adventures have a romance!” Ori insisted, “Besides, I would never be so improper as to go into _detail_ ” 

 

“Mister Baggins isn’t even aware romance is an option, there is no guarantee there will be any reciprocation. There’s a good change all you’ll be doing is recording Bofur’s broken heart, something I doubt he’d thank you for” Dori replied.

 

“Well, maybe we could meddle in Bofur’s favour? Increase his odds?” Ori suggested, looking hopeful at his eldest brother, “Or perhaps I should ask Nori for help. He’s always been good at fixing bets in his favour.”

 

That sold it for Dori “Why would you even think such a stupid thing. The only advice Nori can give you is about committing criminal acts. Don’t bring him into this, it would ruin everything and Bofur would never forgive you. I’ll speak with Bombur about it, if that would prevent you from such a rash act.”

 

Dori walked off quickly to protect what was left of his dignity, so he missed the victorious smile on Ori’s face as he wrote down more details in his book.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks once again to Melvin (the magnificent) for all the help with Betaing. Without your support I probably would never post this.


	3. Darkness and Spiders and Elves, Oh My!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The songs Bilbo sings are directly quoted from J.R.R. Tolkein's book The Hobbit. They can be found in the chapter "Flies and Cobwebs" I don't own them nor did I think them up. I'm drawing heavily on the book's plot for this section of fic though I just realized I forgot beorn in the last chapter :( so, yeah. If you've read the book, hopefully this isn't boring for you. I don't own anything that's JRRTs, obvs.

As a child Bilbo had always been at ease in forests. He would spend all day climbing trees, fighting imaginary goblins off with sticks, and playing at meeting elves. The forests of the shire smelled of sap and dirt, and the trees were tall enough and far enough apart that bright sunlight broke through their leaves to dance across the forest floor. Mirkwood had none of these qualities, with foliage so thick little light broke through which left Bilbo feeling like he was constantly travelling at dusk. The old vine covered trees smelled of rot. As he travelled further into the forest those old trees also often had large cobwebs strung across their branches. The forests of the shire had many paths, those taken by hobbits and those made by wild animals, which made travel through the forests easy and safe. Wild animals which often crossed the paths of hobbits were rarely dangerous. In Mirkwood, though Bilbo could hear animals, he could rarely see so much as a squirrel.

 

Before entering Mirkwood, Gandalf had explained to Bilbo that there were two safe paths through the forest. He emphasized that Thorin’s company was not to stray from the path they took. Soon after giving that advice, Gandalf had left to “take care of some nasty business,” though he refused to clarify what that business might be.

 

And so, three days into their travel through the forest, Bilbo was beginning to itch for sunlight, real, proper sunlight. The dusting of light that came through the trees was even beginning to get to the dwarves, who Bilbo would have thought were more used to darkness. Sadly, the sunlight was not the only thing Bilbo craved; since entering the forest food had to be rationed. Thorin didn’t know how long it would take to travel through the forest, and hunting and foraging was strictly off limits. Some of their packs had survived capture by the goblins, and blessed with luck, those packs were those with food. However, it was not as much as they would have had if they’d kept the ponies. Going to bed hungry, for a hobbit, was normally an impossible task, yet Bilbo found he had less trouble than he expected. The company all slept close to one another due to the narrowness of the road, and feelings of unease. This meant no one so much as raised an eyebrow when Bofur slept closer to Bilbo than might be proper. He always insisted Bilbo sleep closest to the fire, claiming the smoke irritated him. _A likely story_ Bilbo thought, and almost protested the treatment. The earnestness in Bofur’s face, despite his very obvious lie, convinced Bilbo to stay quiet. 

 

As Bilbo marched on down the forest road with the dwarves, who had become despondent and silent, he thought about Bofur. _He still gives me his hat as a pillow_ , Bilbo thought, mildly embarrassed that he kept accepting, _and he offered me his scarf when we first began walking in the morning. Perhaps this is a sign of friendship? Or gratitude for wanting to find him a home? But then why would he touch me as he does? Though, dwarves seem more physical in friendship than hobbits_. Bilbo knew what a casual touch on the arm, small of the back or thigh meant among hobbits. It was something he rarely experienced, since many hobbits found him either too much a Baggins or too much a Took to be a romantic partner. Among dwarves though, Bilbo hadn’t a clue what casual touching might mean. Cousins and siblings might puppy pile even into their tweens at sleepovers, but by the time they were adults proprietary set in and such acts were only a sign of flirtation. But the dwarves were always slapping one another on the back, or brothers and cousins leaning against one another, both acts which hobbit propriety considered impolite. _Perhaps he is doing what he’d do with a dwarf, only gentler, since I seem less … hardy_. _That must be it, since I’m not much compared to a dwarf. It is hardly likely Bofur would consider me an object for flirtation._ Bilbo touched his cheek briefly, _even dwarf women have beards_ , he thought, thinking of Gloin’s description of his wife, _Bofur must think I look like a child. That must motivate his protective behaviour_. This last thought made Bilbo feel oddly disappointed, though he pushed that feeling aside without questioning it.

 

With those thoughts settled Bilbo’s thoughts drifted to the cobwebs strangling tree branches. He shuddered to think of the size of the spiders that made them. Fortunately no webs made it onto the road. His imagination ran wild, thinking of all the nasty ends that could come of being caught by such a spider. Those thoughts must have shown on his face, as Bofur soon interrupted them with a quiet, “What I wouldn’t do for some pie now”. 

 

Bilbo wasn’t sure if thinking about his unhappy empty belly was an improvement, but it was enough to distract him from the spiders.

 

“What kind of pie?” Bilbo replied, quiet as his companion.

 

“Steak pie would be nice. Me uncle used to make a really nice one. Bombur, for all he trained with my uncle in the kitchens in Erebor, never quite managed to learn the trick for making the crust perfect - flakey yet not dry” here Bofur sighed, “though his meat pies are still very tasty.”

 

“I’ve generally preferred fruit pies. The housewives in Hobbiton often compete to see who has the best recipe, the prettiest pie, that sort of thing”.

 

Bofur smiled and the conversation turned to comparing cuisine of the Shire to that of the dwarves. Unfortunately, such uplifting conversation was impossible after a few days. The next day, Bombur fell into an enchanted river as they were crossing it by boat, and fell into a deep sleep. He needed to be carried for the next few days and the only consolation the dwarves had for carrying his heavy frame was that there was one less mouth to feed. Unable to see an end to the forest, the company became despondent. Even Bombur waking up again was not much cause of cheer. Eventually, on the second day without food, the company was hungry enough to lose sight of sense. 

 

“What’s that light?” Balin said, staring off into the forest.

 

“It’s an elvish feast!” Kili replied, peering through the woods. The company fell into disagreement about whether to seek out the feast, with the end consensus being they were to die from starvation if they stayed to the path, but they might survive if they can beg some food off of the elves. And so, foolishly, the company snuck into the woods. As they got closer the smells of the feast became stronger, causing the pangs in Bilbo’s stomach to become more severe. As soon as they stepped into the clearing the lights from the party went dark, and chaos broke out as the elves fled. In the darkness, the dwarves became disoriented. Bilbo called out to them, but over the clamour of the elves’ escape he was unable to hear any response.

 

When the clearing grew silent Bilbo found himself entirely alone. _Well, no use searching for them when I cannot even see my hand if I were to hold it in front of my face_ , he thought, reaching out until he found a tree. Settling himself near its base, sword in hand, Bilbo waited the night out. 

 

***

 

Bilbo must have fallen asleep, as he awoke the next day completely unaware of the time. He gripped his sword tighter and stood up. As squinted into the dusky woods around him he heard a nasal voice speak. 

 

“Dwarf meat isn’t easy to come by in these woods, is it sister?” the voice said, sounding as though it was above Bilbo.

 

“Oh, agreed brother. Though all but one of these dwarves is nothing but skin and bones. We’ll have to let them sit wrapped up for their juices to flow for quite some time before we can eat them.”

 

“Oh, but what about the fat one?” A third voice asked, “He seems juicy enough to eat alive”.

 

As he heard the voices speak, Bilbo reached into his pocket and slipped on his magic ring. Then, he slowly crept around the tree. He heard a scuttling noise, and he followed it until he saw one of the speakers. A massive spider, at least the size of a pony, was dragging one of the dwarves across the forest floor. Bilbo couldn’t make out their face through the webbing, but he recognized the jumper immediately. _Oh, poor Ori!_ , he thought. Looking up, he saw many such packets hanging from the trees or stuck to webs. _Oh, what am I to do_ , he thought, seeing the number of spiders. Three at first seemed manageable, but there were at least six he’d have to sneak around to free the dwarves. _I’ll have to draw them off,_ he thought. He remembered a song his mother used to sing, a lullaby from when the common tongue was young, about attercops. He had listened to the song confused before asking his mother what an attercop was. A spider, she’d said, and his mother claimed the common tongue stopped using attercop since spiders took offense at the name. Bilbo couldn’t remember the words to that song, but he could improvise. He backed farther away from the webs before beginning his plan. Hiding behind a tree he called out to the spiders in a sing-song voice”

 

“Old fat spider spinning in a tree!

Old fat spider can’t see me!

 

Attercop! Attercop!

Won’t you stop,

 

 

Stop your spinning and look for me!”

 

Bilbo could hear the spiders stop their spinning, and slowly climb down from their trees as he spoke. Bilbo moved further away before continuing, speaking loudly as he moved further away from the dwarves.

 

“Old Tomnoddy, all big body,

Old Tomnoddy can’t spy me!

Attercop! Attercop!

Down you drop! You’ll never catch me up your tree.”

 

Bilbo doubled back silently towards the closest dwarf filled tree, avoiding bumping a giant spider by no more than his hand’s length. He watched them scurry around the ground, searching angrily for the one who had escaped them. 

 

Bilbo removed his ring before freeing the dwarves since he knew an invisible sword cutting their webs would startle them. The closest websac to Bilbo contained Kili, who could do little more than blink at him. _Paralyzed_ ,Bilbo thought in despair.  However, as he cut the second sack, which held Fili, he could see Kili begin to move, albeit uncoordinated, towards the third sac in their tree. Bilbo heard the spiders begin to come closer. He held one finger to his mouth, signalling silence to Kili, who nodded. Kili continued to free Balin as Bilbo slid down the tree to the ground. Running to the closest spider, he stabbed it. The spider howled in pain as it’s companions drew closer. Bilbo hopped backwards, then darted behind another tree.

 

The remaining spiders began to weave webs around the trees which surrounded Bilbo and the injured spider. Bilbo looked above to the trees, where he saw that Kili had hopped onto another tree, and was freeing its inhabitants.

 

Bilbo mustered up his courage and began to speak once again, yelling in a sing-song voice.

 

“Lazy Lob and crazy Cob 

are weaving webs to wind me. 

I am far more sweet than other meat, 

But still they cannot find me.”

 

Bilbo looked frantically for a way out as the webbing around him grew. He saw a weakness in the webbing, a place where little more than two ropes of webbing were between him and freedom. He’d have to get past a spider to do it, however. _I’d best move quick_ he thought as he ran towards that section of webbing. The spider standing in front of it leaped to the side as Bilbo jabbed his sword into its abdomen. 

 

“Oh, curse it! It got me with its stinger. Brother you must catch the nasty fly”

 

Bilbo ran further away from the trees as he called out in response

 

“Here am I, naughty little fly;

You are fat and lazy.

 

 

You cannot trap me, though you try,

In your cobwebs crazy”

 

Bilbo doubled back past the spiders, climbing up a tree further from the others containing the remaining unopened web sacs. As he climbed Bilbo thought _Stinger indeed. What kind of monster can’t tell he’s been hit with a sword. Though, Sting would make an excellent name my my weapon. Yes. I shall call it Sting._ Again, Bilbo removed his ring before he got to work feeling dwarves. Bilbo could tell from size the first web he opened would be Bombur. When he turned to open the next sac, his heart caught in his throat. He could see the the flaps of a hat sticking out from the webbing. _Oh, poor Bofur,_ he thought, taking care as he removed the webbing from the paralyzed dwarf. Though Bofur’s body was immobile, his eyes were glad to see Bilbo. He looked Bilbo up and down, then gave a very weak relieved smile. He opened his mouth to speak, as the toxins began to wear off, and Bilbo put a hand over Bofur’s mouth.

 

Bilbo leaned in close to Bofur’s ear, pushing the hat up as he did. “We must be absolutely silent, the spiders do not yet know I’ve freed you,” he whispered, his nose touching Bofur’s cheek.

 

Bilbo felt Bofur’s lips move underneath his hand, and his moustache tickled Bilbo’s hand. Bilbo resisted the urge to roll his eyes, thinking Bofur was trying to argue.

 

“Keep quiet now. I plan on drawing off the spiders soon - don’t argue with me about that - and I’ll need you to tell the others to run to safety. I’ll do my best to find you after.” 

 

Out of the corner of his eye, Bilbo could see Bombur opening the final sac. Dwalin seemed to already be recovering from the toxin, anger clear in his face. Bofur’s relief had very clearly changed to concern. 

 

Whispering yet again Bilbo said “I shall be fine. The spiders will never see me”

 

Bilbo climbed down to the ground again, then slipped on his ring. He began yelling insults at the spiders to draw them off. His plan worked for a while, until one dwarf stumbled rather loudly in the forest. Even at a distance Bilbo could hear it. The spiders shrieked in rage and ran after the dwarves. Bilbo chased after them, and caught up once the spiders had reached the dwarves. The dwarves, still slow and clumsy with spider toxin, were having a hard time fighting. 

 

“I’ll teach you to sting!” Bilbo yelled, as he hacked at the spiders legs and stabbed any part of their torso he could reach. This continued on for some time as the dwarves continued to defend themselves. Eventually the spiders were unable to continue to bear the unseen assault, and they fled.

 

The dwarves and Bilbo marched on through the forest for some time before stopping in a clearing. As they all sank to the ground in exhaustion, Fili called asked “When did anyone last see Thorin?”

 

And only after he spoke did Bilbo notice their leader was missing. The dwarves all let loose moans and groans, realizing their leader was lost to them. Balin cut the lament short, however, saying “We’ll do our best to find him in the morning. As it stands, we’d best get some rest.”

 

The company, however, was too alert from their experience with the spiders to sleep at first. And so, they began asking Bilbo how he had disappeared. 

 

 And so, Bilbo told them about his adventure with Gollum, and how he came by his magic ring. The dwarves, suitably impressed and reasonably distracted, were able to settle down for the night after hearing Bilbo’s tale. The company all huddled close as as the dwarves all dropped off into sleep. Bilbo was halfway there himself when he felt the bristles of Bofur’s mustache against his ear.

 

“When I noticed ye hadn’t been caught by the spiders, I wasn’t sure if I should be happy ye didn’t get caught with us, or sad that ye’d die alone when we all had the solace of company,” he said quietly, slinging an arm around Bilbo’s shoulders. He pulled Bilbo back a bit, so that Bilbo was resting with his head in the crook of Bofur’s neck. Bilbo, not sure of how to respond, merely grabbed Bofur’s hand, squeezed, then fell asleep. 

 

***

 

The Dwarves woke with a shock in the morning, with wood elves waking them. There was no opportunity or will to fight, and they gave up before a fight had even began. As the elves came closer, Bofur dropped his hat onto Bilbo’s head and said “This will keep ye safe while yer invisible.”

 

As soon as Bofur spoke, Bilbo slipped his ring on. Crowded together as the company was, the elves weren’t able to get a proper headcount when they first entered the clearing. Given Bilbo’s smaller height, it was not surprising that he’d been missed. As they bound and blindfolded the dwarves, the elves failed to notice that one set of footprints in the clearing was very different from the others, and that print’s owner was unaccounted for.  Bilbo followed the elves as they pushed the dwarves to their city, always a few feet behind the last elf. 

 

The hobbit followed the elves until they came to a massive set of doors which opened into a cave. Bilbo hurried to catch up, entering the cave on the heels of the last elf as the doors closed heavily behind him. The cave, on the inside, seemed much closer to descriptions Bilbo had heard of dwarves’ halls than of the goblin city. Bilbo continued to follow the dwarves’ captors as he stared around at the cave. It was well lit by torches every few feet that gave off little smoke. There were ornate patterns carved into the stone. The relief sculptures were of leaves, trees, as well of abstract patterns. Jewels and precious metal occasionally accompanied the stone decorations. This ostentatious decoration did not continue into the dungeons where the elves brought the dwarves. While the dungeons were clean and well lit, they were drab and grey. Thick wooden doors separated each cell from the hall, and every dwarf was put into their own cell. Kili and Fili looked like they might fight being separated, but they didn’t have the energy to do so. It hurt Bilbo to see the looks on their faces as the doors closed on them, and he hoped the two would have the solace of being able to talk to one another.

 

After the elves left, Bilbo explored the dungeons. Further down the hall there were more doors, most left unlocked and open. One, however, far down near the end of the hall, was locked. Bilbo saw a window in the cell, though he had to jump to get a look into it. Before jumping, he took Bofur’s hat off, worried it might slide down and block his view. Once he could see inside the cell, his heart filled with joy. The last cell contained Thorin! He was sitting on his bed brooding in silence. Bilbo looked up and down the hall before speaking.

 

“Thorin, it’s me, Bilbo. I’ve come with the rest of the company, though they are as trapped as you.”

 

Thorin sounded shocked when he responded, “So, our burglar has slipped away from danger once again. I am glad you keep proving me wrong, hobbit.”

 

“Ah, yes. I’ll do my best to find a way out for you and the other dwarves. Tell me, though, are the elves treating you properly? Should I go off and steal some food for you?”

 

“No, your skills as a thief are not yet needed. The elves feed me well, though it is not fine food. They want me to agree to ransoming my way out. Well, they shall never have any of the riches of Erebor!” Thorin said angrily.

 

“Right. Look, I’ve got to go find a way to get you free, but I’ll come back with any news and I’ll let the other dwarves know you’re here with us” Bilbo said, putting Bofur’s hat back on as he scampered away to explore the rest of the wood elves’ caves. Before leaving the dungeons, he stopped at each dwarf’s cell to let them know he’d found Thorin. It was a quick affair, with the exception of his stop at Bofur’s cell. Bilbo had to reassure Bofur many times that he was unharmed, and that he would be careful before Bofur said his goodbyes to him. He snuck past the guards standing outside of the hall, noting that one had a large set of keys attached to his belt. As Bilbo explored the caves, he thought about the differences between this city and Rivendell. _The elves of Rivendell were much less ostentatious in their dress. Why, even the guards have overly embroidered clothes. And I’d never think to see boots with so many kinds of patterns stamped into the leather._ Bilbo easily decided he preferred high elves over wood elves any day.

 

*** 

As Bilbo explored the caverns, the dwarves became familiar with who their neighbours were. Dori discovered Bombur was his nearest companion, with Nori on his other side. With strong feelings of frustration aimed at his youngest brother, he began a quiet conversation through the wall with Bombur. While the walls were thick, the tops of the walls all had small air holes so that air could flow in and out of the different cells, preventing stagnation.

 

“Bombur, while I know this is a delicate subject, have you noticed your elder brother’s actions towards our burglar? He seems very — hmm — fond of mister Baggins” he asked, feigning a disinterested tone of voice.

 

“Aye, I have” Bombur replied, sounding guarded.

 

“And mister Baggins doesn’t seem to have noticed. Have you considered informing mister Baggins of your brothers intentions, since Bofur seems incapable of being so forward?” Dori continued.

 

“No, and I have no plans of it. For all the hobbit seems nice enough, I’m not keen to see my only brother leave once we’ve won our home back to live so far away.”

 

It was not the response Dori was expecting. _It stands to reason Bombur would feel this way. I should have expected it, really._ _Mining families rarely marry far from home. I’ve known since childhood Nori and Ori could easily be expected to marry far away if there was mutual liking between one of them and a noble daughter of one of the other great halls.There could be important political benefits gained by sending a younger son to another hall, not a matter miners and cooks find themselves concerned with_. Dori sighed quietly. He’d hate having to explain this to Ori, who despite his protests, was very much a romantic at heart. 

 

“Then, you’ve spoken with Bofur about your concerns” Dori said after a very long moment.

 

“He wouldn’t listen if I did. I won’t interfere, he’d never forgive me if he found out, but I won’t help him either.” Bombur replied. He paused a moment before continuing. 

 

 “I don’t know if this is love yet. Gods above I hope it’s not. I know nothing of how hobbits love, but if they’re anything like men, they can love weakly and they can love again and again. Ye and I both know that’s not the case for us. What if Bilbo sees Bofur as a harmless distraction, then leaves for his Shire? Bofur will never settle down with anyone else, and would be doomed to a life of pining. I won’t have that for him if I can help it. For all he’s older, he’s never had much sense.”

 

Dori, thinking of his own brothers and the potential for witnessing their heartbreak, made a noise of agreement.

 

*** 

Over the next few days Bilbo explored the vast caverns of the wood elves. Every day he would come by the dungeons where the dwarves were being held and update the company on possible escape routes. The one that seemed most likely to succeed was finding a way to sneak out in the barrels that were returned to lake town, a town outside of Mirkwood that was near the lonely mountain. Those barrels at one point contained wine and beer, sold by the townsmen. Bilbo had learned all of this through eavesdropping on those who worked in the kitchen. He now had to wait for an opportunity to steal the keys from the guard and sneak the dwarves down to the cave that the river ran through. It was there that elves sent empty or spoiled barrels downstream.

 

Whenever Bilbo went to the dwarves with updates, only Bofur insisted on long, drawn out whispered conversations. He would inquire after Bilbo’s health, whether he’d stolen enough to eat from the kitchens, and his thoughts on their captors. Bilbo supposed it was due to loneliness, since he’d always thought of Bofur as a sociable dwarf. 

 

One night, it must have been a holiday, the guards showed up to duty drunk. One of them disappeared, _most likely off to another party,_ Bilbo assumed. The other took his keys and sword out of his belt, and fell asleep on the ground. Bilbo, seeing his opportunity, took the keys, careful to hold them together in one hand to keep them from jingling. Then, starting with Thorin, Bilbo freed each of the dwarves from their cell. While most dwarves shook Bilbo’s hand in thanks, Bofur did something unexpected. When Bofur saw Bilbo standing in his open doorway, he pulled Bilbo into a tight hug. Upon seeing Thorin behind Bilbo, he released the hobbit and said quietly “It’s good to see ye.”  

 

Bilbo smiled, and continued to free the dwarves. Once the last one was free, Bilbo began to show the dwarves the way to the river. As they walked the empty halls, Bilbo took Bofur’s cap off his head and returned it to Bofur. Bofur ducked his head in thanks before he placed the hat back on his head. Before they turned the final corner, the company heard footsteps. Fortunately, the hall they travelled in had doorways they quickly pressed themselves into. As they stood motionless, Bofur pulled Bilbo tightly to him, one arm around Bilbo’s chest. When the footsteps disappeared, Bofur reluctantly let Bilbo go. Bilbo responded by lightly touching Bofur’s arm and smiling, before beckoning the company along to the barrel room. Bilbo and Bofur both missed the troubled look Bombur sent their way. 

 

Bilbo helped each of the dwarves into a barrel, sealing the lid as tightly as he could. Bombur had a difficult time shimmying into a barrel, causing the dwarves to exchange smiles; it was the first comedic event for them in a long time. Bombur took it with his usual good humor, smiling in a self deprecating way at his brother, before he finally was able to fit all the way in. Bilbo sealed the cask around him, before moving on to the others. Bofur, before being sealed fully, placed his hand on Bilbo’s bicep and said “I’ll be seeing ye downriver then?” 

 

Bilbo smiled, “Yes. I do suppose you will”

 

Bilbo had barely finished sealing the dwarves into their barrels when he heard footsteps down the hall. Slipping on his ring, he frantically tried to find a way into a barrel of his own. Before he could, two elves came down, speaking of the nights merriment. They began rolling the barrels into the water. Bilbo, afraid of being left behind, jumped onto an empty cask as it began to float away, and held on for dear life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to melvin for betaing :)


	4. Cold Water and Cold Nights

The ride down the river was an unpleasant one, with Bilbo bobbing up and down on his barrel in and out of the water. By the time the barrels arrived at the shore of Long Lake Bilbo was thoroughly soaked. He slid down off his barrel and stumbled towards dry land. The lids had come off of the barrels the dwarves were in, causing them to treat the barrels more like small boats. Bilbo eventually found another opened barrel to slide into, afraid his hands could not hold onto the side of a barrel for much longer. They rushed downstream as the sun began to set. By the time they arrived at the largest lake Bilbo had ever seen, every member of the company was soaked to the bone. 

 

The barrels hit the riverbank, and they all tumbled out. Not a single member of the company was dry, all soaked to the bone. Their wet clothes hung heavily off their bodies, pulling them down as they all lay on the grass. Thorin, however, refused to lie down with the others. He stared off at the Lonely Mountain, his long lost home. Bilbo from his prone position on the ground paid it little heed, more impressed with the largest lake he’d ever seen. It disappeared onto the horizon, stars reflecting in the water all the way along. The company lay on the ground for a few more minutes before Thorin gruffly told them all to get up. He then lead the way towards Lake-town, a city of men. Balin quietly told Bilbo of its history as they staggered towards the main gate.

 

Bilbo watched on in silence, shivering in the cold night air, as Thorin demanded to speak with the Master of Lake-town. Bofur drifted to his side, and placed his one (mostly) dry article of clothing on Bilbo’s head. 

 

“Luckily it’s been treated with mink oil to keep the rain out” Bofur said quietly. His head was close to Bilbo’s with his hands on Bilbo’s shoulders. Bilbo shivered again, though he felt something warm rush through him. Bofur made a concerned noise and wrapped his arms around Bilbo’s chest until the guard decided to let them into the city. The townspeople who weren’t at the feast stared at the dwarves as they passed, trading whispers and excited looks. Thorin seemed to not notice, though Bilbo felt extremely uncomfortable to be the subject of such attention. His discomfort must have showed, because Balin began talking quietly to him about the legends and rumours surrounding their return.

 

“So, as you can see Laddie, these men must think we’ll make them rich again. Dale was a prosperous city, as was Erebor. While it seems like Lake-Town is doing well, it is nothing compared to what once was.”

 

The hungry company felt pangs to see the food being served at the feast. While they hadn’t gone hungry while with the elves, they also had not eaten anything of quality since they left Rivendell. Thorin was having words with the Master, who had a slick condescending smile on his face as he spoke with the dwarf. Bilbo felt ill at ease looking at the Master, whose physique was like that of Bombur but lacking any of Bombur’s joy or generosity. Despite the Master inviting the company to the feast, Bilbo could not shake his feeling of unease. 

 

Bilbo felt much warmer sitting at the table with warm food in front of him, so he returned Bofur’s hat. Bofur placed it back upon his own head with a soft smile before digging in. Bilbo sat next to Bofur, with Kili on his other side. Bombur, Bifur and Balin sat across from him, with Fili next to his brother. Further down the table Dwalin, Ori, Nori and Dori were all digging into their food and trying to drink themselves under the table. Gloin and Oin sat with Thorin near the head of the table. While Kili and Fili initially joked with Balin about how the hobbit had eyes bigger than his stomach, their amusement soon turned to amazement upon seeing how much Bilbo could eat. He didn’t realize his appetite had become the evening’s entertainment for his companions. Bilbo thought instead about how kind the dwarves were to refill his plate whenever he had finished. 

 

Further down the table, Ori was doing his best keep up with his brothers as they drank ale. None of them, however, seemed to be able to match Dwalin. Ori had be eyeing Dwalin the entire way to Erebor whenever he had a chance. Now, at the feast with the men of Lake Town, Ori had the opportunity to ogle Dwalin for as long as they ate. Dwalin sat across from Ori, who was flanked by both his brothers. Two older brothers who, Ori well knew, did their best to discourage any potential romance. Dori was very insistent on courtship taking the proper route, _which I’ve heard about at length. He has made it abundantly clear to me that I need to know such things as: the proper way to approach a potential life partner (be they a prospective wife or prospective husband); how to ask for permission from the head of house; the proper way to receive tokens of interest, or how to reply to poetry depending on the respective status of the suitor. Ugh. That’s hardly a problem I will have often in my life,_ Ori thought to himself and he fastidiously avoided anything green that made its way near or on his plate. Dori kept insisting he’d like _some_ vegetables, if only he’d try them. Outside of beets and carrots, however, Ori couldn’t see anything worth eating in the category of “vegetable” also known as “waste of time spent chewing”.

 

Ori had already drawn a few small sketches of Dwalin, his strong arms often featuring prominently in those pictures. Fortunately Nori seemed to think the illustrations of Dwalin had something to do with envy, a romanticization of battle and a desire to be a well known warrior. Dori, who read over Ori’s shoulder whenever he had the chance, fortunately hadn’t seen more than one sketch of Dwalin. He was more perceptive, and doubtless would disapprove. For all Dwalin was from a respectable family, he was rough and crude. Ori knew from conversations with Dori about proper relationships that Dori wanted him to marry either a nice dwarvish lass who was bookish like himself, or a respectable yet strong dwarvish nobleman. Dwalin only managed the last two parts of Dori’s standards for a male partner. _Which is why I shan’t tell him since little is to come of this … attraction._

 

 _Oh Aulë above. Dori getting in a fight with Dwalin over my honour would be so embarrassing. Though I do not know which one of them would win, if they were to fight. For all Dwalin is a seasoned warrior, Dori is known for his unnatural strength, it’s probably the only reason he was able to keep Nori in check for as long as he did. That is, assuming Dwalin would ever be interested in me. I could probably convince him for some physical comfort, though that would raise the need to keep Dori in the dark._ Ori reached for another chicken leg as he thought about the last time he’d seen Dori get into a weightlifting competition. The other fellow had gotten hurt trying to keep up, and Dori hadn’t broken a sweat. Most young dwarves knew this before they came courting, which meant one look from Dori sent them scurrying. 

 

 _As long as Dori has my best interests at heart, I am doomed to be alone all my days — or at very least alone until I find a “suitable” person to marry. All I need to do is make sure Dwalin remains a, hmm, flirtation. It wouldn’t do to fall in love without Dori’s permission! But a bit of kissing, well, that’s none of his business is it?_ _It’s not like Dwalin’s the marrying sort, anyway._

 

Ori looked over and Dwalin who was staring at him with an odd expression. _Did I eat something green by accident?_ , Ori questioned himself. Looking down at his plate, he saw nothing other than meat and bread. _He must have eaten something that disagreed with him._

 

_***_

 

The dwarves were given rooms at the local inn, free of charge, though they’d have to sleep two to a bed. Thorin chose Balin as a roommate, since he needed to discuss plans for retaking Erebor with Balin. Bombur and Bifur were to a room, and Bofur and Bilbo to the room across from theirs. The rest of the group paired up with brothers, except Dwalin whose brother was to be with Thorin. He ended up sharing a room with Ori, who Nori refused to sleep with on the grounds that “he mumbles in his sleep”. Dori confirmed this, and Dwalin offered to share a room with Ori, since he was a heavy sleeper.

 

Ori followed Dwalin down the hall, cheering his good luck silently. He bit his cheek to stop from smiling when the room opened onto one bed. Ori took the candle he held to light the room and put it on the windowsill. The candle managed to fill the room with its dim, warm light.

 

“I’ll sleep on the floor” Dwalin said as he shucked off his coat.

 

“The bed looks large enough for the two of us” Ori replied, “We probably wouldn’t even touch.”

 

“Aye, but that might not be proper” Dwalin said as he kicked off his boots and pulled off his socks. His clothes were left in small pile on the floor as he worked his way towards the bed. Eventually, clad only in his long johns and undershirt he sat on the bed.

 

“We’ve been sleeping near each other while camping. I don’t see how this is much different. Besides, if it weren’t proper Dori would have intervened. I can guarantee you of that” Ori said. He removed his sweater, which was still damp, and lay it flat on the small table beside the bed. He placed his socks by the window to dry, along with his boots. He then removed his tunic and pants, draping them over the chair. 

 

“Aye, I suppose you’re right. Dori is a stickler for protocol”

 

Ori smiled at him and said, “I’m always right. I’d say you should ask Nori but he isn’t the most honest of dwarves”

 

Dwalin’s lips turned up at that comment, and he got into the bed and kept as far to one side as possible. Ori blew the candle out, then also got into the bed. He did not cross over the invisible dividing line between his side and Dwalin’s, though he did not slide as far to the edge as Dwalin had. 

 

 Dwalin fell asleep quickly, though Ori did not. _I hope I don’t mumble as much as Nori says I do_ he thought as he stared at the wall _it wouldn’t do for Dwalin to know how badly I want to run my hands over his shirtless chest._ As Ori worried about his mumbling habit, Dwalin rolled over and put one arm around Ori. At first this caused Ori’s heart to race from fear of being found out. Once he had settled, however, the feeling of Dwalin’s arm over him helped lull him to sleep.

 

***

 

Meanwhile Bilbo and Bofur faced a similar situation, though neither had the compunctions about sharing that Dwalin seemed to. Bilbo stripped down to his underwear and hung all his clothes on the windowsill to dry, and Bofur dropped his coat and pants on the chair, and left his shirt in a pile on the bedside table.

 

“Do ye prefer to be closer or farther from the window” Bofur asked as he wrung his sock out onto the floor.

 

“Ah, away from it if I you don’t mind.”

 

“Alright then.” Bofur said getting himself cozy in the bed. Bilbo shivered as he made his way over to the bed. He burrowed under the covers, pulling the blanket up almost to his nose. Bofur turned over to look at him for a moment, before sliding closer. He threw an arm over the hobbit and pulled him close. Bilbo felt his heart pound, though he did not know why.

 

“Bofur, what, uh, that is to say, why are —” Bilbo began to ask, but was interrupted before he could clarify his thoughts.

 

“We’ll stay like this till ye get warm. I would never have guessed hobbits get cold so easily, ye know. It isn’t common among dwarves to get as cold as ye seem to.” 

 

Bilbo’s only response was to turn into Bofur’s embrace and warm his nose up on Bofur’s chest. He made a pleased noise, then promptly fell asleep. Bofur was not as fortunate as Bilbo. Sleep did not visit him for a long time; he spent that time staring into darkness fighting the tight pinching feeling in his chest as he stroked the hobbit’s hair.

 

***

 

The next day the company woke early to walk the path to the mountain. Keeping Elrond’s description in mind they found the exact spot the door was supposed to appear. The group waited and bickered until sunset started, staring intently as the mountain rock. Just as their hope of finding a door was about to fade, a keyhole appeared. Thorin quickly thrust the key into the keyhole and turned it. A thick rock door opened onto a dark tunnel. The company looked at Bilbo expectantly, who gulped loudly. 

 

“I guess I’ll be going in to, ah, assess the situation then?” Bilbo said, doing his best to keep his nerves under control. Thorin nodded, and Balin offered to accompany him halfway through. Bilbo clenched and unclenched his fists, and straightened his back. Before he walked in, Bofur grabbed his wrist. 

 

“Ye’ll be fine, yer our burglar, remember?” he said. Bilbo gave him a shaky smile, and agreed before disappearing into the blackness of the tunnel with Balin fast behind him.

 

The time Bilbo spent in the cave felt like an eternity to Bofur. Bofur sat on the ground staring at the doorway. Images of his father’s death flashed before his eyes, and he couldn’t help thinking the hobbit would suffer the same fate. Bombur, who sat beside him, rested a hand on his ankle.  “He’ll be alright. Smaug won’t even see him.”

 

“At least I have the assurance that should he die, he’ll barely live long enough feel it.” Bofur replied, then swallowed around the lump in his throat. He took one deep breath to push down a sob that crept its way up from that lump. When that didn’t work, he pulled his hat off his head and held it to his chest and continued to breath deeply. He clutched it tight enough to turn his knuckles white. Bombur looked on with concern, and threw one arm around his brother. Bifur, seeing the panic growing on Bofur’s face, moved closer to sit on his other side. He spoke a few words in Khuzdul which seemed to lessen Bofur’s grip on his hat. The three stayed that way until the hobbit and Balin came running out of the tunnel. 

 

“Smaug has a weakness! He can be defeated” Bilbo said excitedly. Bilbo had a golden cup in his hand which he thrust at Thorin, who took it gladly. The king’s face lit with joy, something Bofur couldn’t remember if he’d seen before.

 

“Yes, what is it?”

 

“On his belly one of his scales has fallen off. He doesn’t seem to be aware of it, but an arrow there could destroy him.”

 

None of the company noticed when a thrush, which had been hiding in a bush, flew off towards Lake-town. Bofur waited until Bilbo was done conferring with Thorin about ways to kill Smaug before reaching out and touching his wrist. Bilbo looked at him and smiled widely.

 

“Well Bofur, you’ll soon have your home back” he said. Bofur knew he should have been happy to hear those words, but the thought of the end of their quest felt like an arrow through his heart.

 

“Aye. I’m happier ye made it out un-singed, though”.  Bilbo looked confused, but before he could do anything about it Smaug flew out of the cave and flew purposefully towards Lake-town.

 

The dwarves ran down the mountain to try and help, but before they could reach the town Smaug had attacked. The wooden buildings were alight with dragonfire. Smaug’s scales, which were encrusted with jewels, glittered in the firelight. With a snarl he set about lighting yet more buildings on fire. Suddenly a man appeared on top of one of the few unharmed buildings. He was armed with a bow and arrow. The archer let off a single shot, then Smaug fell out of the air, crashing into buildings as he skidded across the ground.

 

The dwarves looked on in awe as the city continued burn and Smaug’s body lay motionless. Bofur and Gloin both continued moving down the mountain. They were stopped, however, by Thorin.

 

“We can leave the men to deal with their city on their own. We need to return to Erebor and solidify our claim on it.” His voice was flat, and he kept his back to Lake-town. Some of the dwarves looked like they might argue, but the coldness in Thorin’s eyes stopped them. The company slowly returned to the secret door, often looking back at the chaos caused by Smaug. The night air grew colder the further up the mountain they went, and Bilbo once again was cold. Bofur dropped his hat on Bilbo’s head once again. He then took off his coat and put it around Bilbo’s shoulders.

 

“Bofur, I cannot accept”

 

“Sure ye can. All ye need to do is say thank ye” Bofur smiled wide. Bombur, who was watching their interaction, rolled his eyes and made a face at Bifur.

 

“Ah, well then. Thank you Bofur” Bilbo smiled a soft smile, which reminded Bombur of their mother. _If he returns Bofur’s feelings, this might not be the worst of marriages._ Bombur thought, as he struggled with his conflicted feelings. _If only he wasn’t a homesick hobbit!_

 

“Ye see, accepting kindness isn’t as hard as ye first thought.”

 

This was distraction enough from the havoc of Lake-town. Oin and Gloin lit branches from the bush to use as torches before entering the tunnel a second time. Once they were through the tunnel they looked upon the treasures of Erebor with joy. Their celebration was cut short by the order to find a place to sleep for the night.

 

The company managed to find a large room with an old fireplace. Furniture was broken down into firewood and they all laid their bedrolls down in the same room. Bilbo didn’t question when Bofur lay with an arm around him, though Bombur looked on with concern.

 

***

 

In the morning, the dwarves were given free reign to explore Erebor. They were told that after their noontime meal they would have to set about cleaning and organizing in preparation of other dwarves’ arrivals. Bilbo spent the morning seeing the sights of the underground city that were unrestricted by fallen debris. Bofur followed Bilbo around, talking about what he could remember of the city. In the afternoon, Bofur went to clear out some mineshafts, and Bilbo went with Bombur to clear out the kitchens.

 

Bombur’s usual good spirit was overwhelmed by thoughts of either losing his brother, or the fear of his brother loving someone who could not love him the same way. Based on Bofur’s actions towards Bilbo, Bombur was sure that Bofur was fully in love with Bilbo.  These thoughts had weighed on him since his conversation with Dori in the wood elves’ dungeons. _He’d be happy with the hobbit,_ Bombur thought sullenly, _thought I’d see him no more than once every other year. If only the hobbit was less homesick, he could work the kitchens with me. But he’ll go home in the end, leaving Bofur’s heart broken, or me alone and familyless._

 

He began to help Bilbo in the kitchens after he’d had his mid day lunch. Half way through clearing debris he asked, “Do ye have a lass waiting for you back in yer shire?”

 

Bilbo paused before replying, “No, I’ve never really, hmm, had a lass, as you put it”

 

“Haven’t met the one yet?” Bombur pressed on.

 

“Well, I’m not sure about having “a one”. I’ve never met anyone worth settling down with, though I had a few … err … flirtations in my youth”

 

“Is that common among hobbits? Many flirtations?” Bomber asked, his voice completely flat.

 

“Oh, well, as a tween.  Neither party’s really serious at that age. It’s more common to find, well, you know. Boys practicing with boys, girls with girls at that age too. When you’re older, you usually, well, only go on walks with someone you’re considering starting a family with. And those who don’t plan on marrying might go on walks with, hmmm, a _friend_ in hopes they might choose live with you. “

 

Bilbo said as they collected dusty old pots to wash. He paused a moment after dumping them in the sink before giving Bombur a side long glance. _Oh, I hope same sex pairings aren’t as taboo among dwarves as they are among men._ While it wasn’t entirely common among hobbits, those that settled down with same gendered partners were considered eccentric. To be eccentric was to be a topic of gossip in the Shire, but not to be isolated or estranged from the community. The same fate, sadly, could not be had for same sex pairings among the race of men. 

 

“Dwarves don’t have more than a couple possible romantic interests in their lives. Once they fall in love, there can be no one else.” Bombur said, staring at Bilbo.

 

“Oh, well, divorce in the Shire isn’t very common either” Bilbo said, misunderstanding Bombur’s point, “I mean, family is very important. There needs to be a serious reason before breaking one up. It’s why serious relationships are discouraged in tweens. So many of them wind up with very different lovesas adults than those they flirted with as tweens. The older the wiser, as the saying goes. And one should be wise enough to know they can stay the course of marriage before entering into one, or into a special friendship.” Bilbo concluded, glad that he didn’t hear any words advocating a union between a husband and wife as the only legitimate one.

 

Bombur gave Bilbo a thoughtful look, before bringing some rather heavy cast iron pans over. 

 

“I’ll treat these with some oil, that usually doesn’t spoil no matter how old. How about ye finish cleaning up those pots and we can start dinner” 

 

After two hours of hard cleaning, the kitchen was passible. All it needed was some coal for the stoves. As the two of them searched the halls nearby for the coal supply, since Bombur couldn’t remember where it was, Bilbo stuck up conversation once again.

 

“Mister Bombur, might I ask, well, where did Bofur get his hat? I’ve never really seen one like it”

 

“Oh, our mum made it for him.”

 

“Was she the one who taught you to cook?” Bilbo asked, peering into a dark room which appeared to have at one point contained vegetables.

 

“No, that’d be my uncle — her brother. He took me in as an apprentice, ye see. She and our father were miners. He never had children so he borrowed one of his sister-sons to pass down his trade. It’s not uncommon among dwarves, since many pairings cannot bear children.”

 

“And, did your parents become toy makers as well when they left Erebor?” Bilbo asked as he attempted to push a door open. However the door was stuck and Bombur had to put his weight into it for the door to open. As luck would have it they’d found the coal stores, and the coal seemed usable. 

 

“Nae,” Bombur said sadly as he lifted a bag of coal, “They didn’t make it out of the mines when Smaug came. My uncle died trying to get to my mother.”

 

The two were silent for a moment as they headed back towards the kitchen. 

 

“I - I’m sorry for prying, and for your loss” Bilbo said after a long silence. Bombur nodded his head towards Bilbo, then showed him how to load the stoves.

 

“Ye didn’t know not to ask. Bofur rarely talks about them, since he was the last to see them. It hurts him to think of it, since he was so close to our mother.”

 

***

 

That evening was much the same as the last, only with better food and more song. Bofur spent half the evening pressed close against Bilbo as he played his pipe. The other half was spent with a hand on Bilbo’s leg as he sang. When they settled down to sleep, Bofur again spent the night with an arm around Bilbo. Bombur’s concern only grew as he watched the two sleep side by side. The lack of evidence for Bilbo’s interest, be it casual, serious, or non-existent, kept Bombur up past when the other dwarves had gone to sleep.

 

***

The next morning, on his way breakfast, Bilbo walked past Dwalin and Balin having a quiet yet heated conversation. Assuming that conversation was a brotherly bicker, he paid it no mind and hurried ahead to breakfast.

 

“Look, if ye care so much about this, talk to the hobbit yourself” Balin said keeping his voice low as Bilbo passed.

 

“Aye, because mister Baggins will take such news _so_ well from me”

 

“And why does his love life, or that of Bofur’s matter to you?” Balin said with resignation creeping into his voice.

 

“Well… can you just do it?” Dwalin asked angrily.

 

“Well what brother?” Balin’s tone turned accusatory, “Did Ori put you up to this? I’ve never seen you act so foolish over an infatuation.”

 

“Well, he wants it to wrap up his narrative,” Dwalin said, clearly parroting from an earlier conversation.

 

“Alright, I'll do it — if it will make you happy and help you in your suit. I hope your talk with Dori goes well. From what I’ve heard it is his favourite past time to scare off suitors. With luck you won’t be deterred as younger dwarves have been” Balin clapped Dwalin on the shoulder, “It would be good for one of us to settle down.”

 

***

 

“Laddie, there’s something I ought to speak with you about” Balin said after breakfast. The dwarves had all gone off to catalogue treasure, but Bilbo had lingered over his breakfast. Balin found him there, savouring his third serving of eggs. The dwarves had pillaged the mountainside for birds and their eggs, which now served as their primary source of food. Bilbo looked up at him, a spoonful of scrambled eggs halfway to his mouth.

 

“Ah. Yes, of course mister Balin” Bilbo said with a smile, before quickly eating his bite of food.

 

“Well, by now you must have noticed Bofur pays special attention to you”

 

“Well yes. He’s a good friend”

 

“Aye, that he is. Surely you’ve noticed though -“

 

“Noticed what?” Bilbo took another bite of his eggs.

 

“That he’d like to be more than friends”

 

Bilbo’s eyes went wide and he began to choke. Balin slapped him on the back to help dislodge the food caught in his throat.

 

“Surely you must be mistaken!” he said once he had the breath to speak, “I’m, well, I mean. Look at me. He can’t want to - that is, I’m not like you and the other dwarves - I’m just, well, a hobbit.” 

 

Balin looked on Bilbo with kind eyes, and smiled a sad smile. “Laddie, I haven’t know Bofur long, but the signs of interest don’t change much between dwarves, no matter their clan or social standing. Surely you’ve noticed he takes every opportunity to hold you close, or lend you his clothes, or offer you comfort? And he is much less rough with you than his other companions. Dwarves are only gentle with lovers and children.”

 

“Would he not think I look a like a child? I don’t look anything like any of you!” Bilbo protested.

 

“If you’re worried about the beard, master Baggins, dwarves have loved those without beards before, and likely will again!”

 

“I well, I mean, that is to say” Bilbo narrowed his eyes, “Are you absolutely sure?”

 

“Aye. It would be hard not to see it. Dwarves will share or give their most prized possessions to show interest. If he’d been a princeling or a lord, Bofur would be offering you jewels. As a wandering toymaker and former miner, what does he have of value outside of a few coins and some automatons?” Balin smiled as realization dawned upon Bilbo.

 

“Clothes made by a family member are precious indeed when the maker has passed on. We all thought it was rather forward of him, though now I see among your people he would be considered subtle.” Balin finished, then clasped his hands in front of him as he waited for Bilbo’s reply.

 

“Well, yes. He’s never once said he likes me, which usually is the start of a courtship  — at least among hobbits.” Bilbo started to blush as the thought of Balin’s examples. He took a breath before continuing, “he has never suggested we go on walks or picnics, nor has he brought me flowers or — well, any of the things I expect in courtship. Hobbits aren’t among friends as dwarves seem to be, so I assumed he was just being friendly.”

 

“Well, Laddie, now you know otherwise and you can put the lad out of his misery by either giving him what he wants, or refusing it.” Balin said, and he clapped a hand on Bilbo’s shoulder. 

 

“Do be kind about it, if he isn’t the one for you. Bofur’s a good lad as you well know. With luck it’s still an infatuation and not yet love.” Balin said, sounding cryptic. He then walked off, leaving Bilbo to his thoughts.

 

***

 

When Ori had his book and quill in hand, Dori thought he was too distracted by writing and drawing to do much else. _Well, what he doesn’t know won’t hurt him_ , Ori thought, as he pretended to write while watching Dwalin go through his exercises. The two of them were outdoors on the side of the mountain. Ori had told Nori the light was better for writing out here knowing Nori would relay that Dori. It was the perfect excuse since Dori spent enough times asking him to use more light for his poor eyes that his reasoning would go unquestioned. _He might even praise me for being sensible, for once_. Ori knew that he was being less than subtle with Dwalin at this point. Half of the time he spent watching Dwalin, Ori’s quill never moved across his page. Dori might take that to be contemplation, but Ori wasn’t sure if Dwalin would have the same conclusions about Ori’s behaviour.

 

“Laddie, put down that book and get over here” Dwalin said suddenly, lowering his axe. Ori looked up, a bit startled. He resisted the urge to look around and make sure he was the one being addressed, and nodded. He placed his quill inside the book with the tip hanging out of the book to prevent ink blotting. He loped over to Dwalin and asked “Can I help you mister Dwalin?”

 

“Well, in a manner of speaking. It’s more me that’ll be helping you. We’re going to work on your axe skills” Dwalin grinned manically, “since we have the time. You can’t be using a slingshot for much longer.” 

 

“Well, sir, I haven’t got an axe”

 

“Lucky for you I’ve got more than one,” the grin stayed on Dwalin’s face as he handed over a spare axe he kept strapped to his back.

 

“This is Ukhlat, a gift from my father. She’s a good axe to learn with”

 

The lesson progressed from there with Ori learning the basics of axe wielding. Ori was grateful that Dwalin never asked why he did not already know how to wield a blade. Dori had been loath to think of Ori, his youngest brother whom he’d had to raise alone after the death of their parents, doing anything that might cause him harm. Learning how to use a battle-axe was out of the question, since knowing how to wield a blade meant the odds of being in a position to use it were high. 

 

Their lesson progressed as a series of hits and blocks until Ori had a problem with one of the overhead blocks Dwalin was insisting was one of the most important. 

 

“One more time Laddie. We’ll do this till you get it right”

 

“Isn’t there some way you could guide me through this better?” Ori asked, coming up with an idea, “I just can’t seem to figure out what my arms are supposed to be doing”

 

Dwalin lowered his axe and said, “Aye, I can,” before putting his axe gently on the ground. Dwalin walked around behind Ori, who was mentally congratulating himself, before he put his arms around Ori with his hands on Ori’s wrists. 

 

“Just move with me,” Dwalin said quietly next to Ori’s ear. Ori felt shivers go down his spine, and nodded slightly. Dwalin moved Ori through the steps for the block a few times before stepping away slightly. Ori lowered the axe, tip nearly touching the ground and thanked him. _Aulë he’s attractive_ Ori thought for a moment, looking at Dwalin’s lips. Dwalin then did something Ori had thought he’d have to work harder to get. He lay one of his large hands gentle on Ori’s cheek and looked into Ori’s eyes. After a long moment like that, Dwalin leaned forward and pressed his lips against Ori’s.

 

Ori wasn’t entirely sure what to do next, with both his hands occupied by the axe. He moved his own lips in response to Dwalin, cursing his luck that he wouldn’t be able to run his hands over Dwalin’s fine arms. Dwalin, seeming to read Ori’s mind paused briefly enough to put Ori’s axe away, before returning for another kiss. With Ori having free reign over his hands, Dwalin soon pushed the younger dwarf down onto the soft grass of the mountainside.

 

As they lay in the grass Dwalin pushed himself up with a guilty look and asked, “Are ye sure this is what you, that is, are ye alright with—” Ori interrupted his question with a kiss that started as sweet as the grass they lay in, though it quickly became more rough and heavy. Dwalin’s protests dealt with, the two continued on. Ori slid his hand up Dwalin’s shirt, delighted to find Dwalin had forgone wearing an undershirt. _Nori or Dori better not come snooping_ was Ori’s last thought before being completely consumed by the feel of Dwalin’s body against his own.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to melvin for being an inspiration and excellent beta. Without your extensive knowledge of dwarven customs & habits, and about specific dwarves, my fic would be less awesome.


	5. Lost and Found

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to Melvin for being a super awesome Beta.

Bilbo was unable to finish breakfast after Balin’s revelation. He had lost his appetite, and decided instead to wander the halls of Erebor thinking about Bofur. _How could I have missed it_? Bilbo asked himself. It was an easily answered _cultural differences, I suppose. But what am I to do?_ The second question is what drove him to walk aimlessly around the dusty halls that smelled of burnt coal. _I need more time! Time to figure out what he means to me._ Thoughts of holding hands, kissing, and more rose to Bilbo’s mind. He blushed, thinking of what a relationship with Bofur would entail. 

 

That line of thought however, led to further wondering. _If we were to become closer, if I do return those same feelings, what would come of it? I could easily be happy with a handfasting in Erebor, but a life after that bonding? What would come of us? I cannot stay here with him, for all my mother was a Took I belong in the Shire_. _He certainly cannot come home with me! I would never ask him to lose his hard won home_. Bilbo thought, remembering the look on Bofur’s face when Bilbo had told him he didn’t know what it was like to be homesick. Thinking back, his thoughtlessness made him feel sick to his stomach. _I certainly cannot ask him to live the rest of his life among strangers._ The longer he pondered this seemingly answerless query, the tighter his chest felt. His mind kept slipping back to the feeling of Bofur’s arm around his chest, or his mouth pressed to Bilbo’s hand. 

 

 _He will find a better partner once Erebor thrives again._ The thought of Bofur with another made Bilbo’s heart hurt. _It would be hard for him to live so far from his kin. And I cannot live a life surrounded by dead stone so far away from the fields and flowers of the Shire._ Bilbo kept repeating this sentiment in his mind as he tried to convince himself that rejecting Bofur would be the best for both of them. As he tried to banish thoughts of kissing Bofur from his mind, he wandered near to the entrance to Erebor. There he heard a loud argument between Thorin and a messenger from Lake-town.

 

“So this proves it at last. You men of Lake-town never cared for my people and our struggles, only for our gold!” Thorin yelled, looking down from that parapet at the rider in soot stained leather.

 

“If you and yours had not returned to the mountain, Smaug would never have attacked our people. All I ask is that you compensate us for the damage done, and reward Bard for the work of killing the dragon — something your people failed to do sixty years ago, and failed at again last week.” The messenger yelled, back. “Or should we get the elves to hold you to your duty”

 

Bilbo cringed. Any hope at appealing to Thorin’s better side was now lost for good. 

 

“You’ve always sided with the elves, haven’t you? Well, you’ll not see a half copper coin from Erebor! My cousins from the Iron Hills march to join us to protect what is rightfully ours. Before Smaug there were none who could enter these halls uninvited, and that way it shall remain.” Thorin said at last, voice shaking with fury. Bilbo could see him stomp off as the messenger’s shoulders dropped. The man rode slowly back to to Lake-town, _probably to deliver news of war after such devastating destruction._ Bilbo’s heart dropped. Thoughts of romancing Bofur were now long gone, and he instead thought about how to prevent what would inevitably be a deadly confrontation. 

 

 _We did not come all the way here only to have some of our company die among riches._ Bilbo thought angrily. He made his way to the treasure hall, meaning to speak his mind to Thorin. _Perhaps I can offer my share of the treasure for rebuilding. For what else could I need from this adventure other than the tales I will be able to tell?_

 

However, upon see Thorin, who had returned to frantically searching through the treasure hall for the Arkenstone, Bilbo realized his hopes were in vain. Thorin has been growing more manic as the days passes, spending more time searching for the Arkenstone and less time with the rest of the company. _Didn’t Gandalf mention something about a gold-sickness in Thorin’s family?_ Bilbo wondered, thinking back to their conversations on the journey here. _It would be a tragedy to have that strike such a strong leader as Thorin._

 

Bilbo wandered through the treasure hall, doing his best to avoid Thorin. As he did, he kicked piles of gold about, wondering how someone could view dead metal as more important than roofs over children’s heads, or food in their stomachs. _When a fire took out the Gamgee’s house and barn when I was a lad, my mum and father were over the next day with money to help rebuild and smoked meats and bread for the family. Children without a home, with winter approaching, was unthinkable to them. Could dwarves really be so different?_

 

Bilbo sighed, pushing more coins over with his feet. Staring at the gold he displaced, he noticed an odd light coming from underneath. Reaching down with his hand stretched out he pushed the coins out of the way. Beneath the gold was a white glowing stone, the Arkenstone. Seeing Thorin’s greatest treasure inspired dangerous thoughts in Bilbo’s mind. He slipped the stone inside his inner jacket pocket. The glow did not seep through, and Bilbo began to form a plan for how to ensure the men of Lake-town had the money to rebuild. _Well, at least now I need not concern myself with what to say to Bofur. He’ll not look at me again, nor will the other dwarves, once they realize what I’ve done._ To lose his friends would be sad, Bilbo knew, but to have not done the proper thing would be sadder still. 

 

 _If I put my own comfort before the needs of others I will not be able to look my mother in the eye when I pass on._ Bilbo thought as he walked towards the room he had been sleeping in. His hands shook uncontrollably, so he stuffed them in his pockets. He fiddled with the ring reassured that if worse came to worse, he could escape the wrath of the dwarves unscathed. 

 

***

 

Bilbo packed his few belongings when the dwarves were out of the main sleeping room. They were all frantically working to get Erebor in shape for the coming battle. Bilbo shoved his packed bag behind some fallen debris near the main entrance. The dwarves had decided to leave them, since they helped fortify the front gate, and Bilbo was fairly certain his pack would go untouched. 

 

That night Bofur lay next to him, so close he was almost pressed up against Bilbo’s back. He’d not wrapped an arm around Bilbo as he had taken to doing since they first reclaimed the mountain; Bilbo felt he should have been grateful for the change, since it would make his departure easier, but he could not ignore the disappointment he felt. Bilbo had chosen to lie closest to the door, further away from the fire than most. His decision had lead to Bombur giving him a dirty look, _he must think I intend to gain some measure of privacy with Bofur._ Another time the thought might have amused Bilbo. 

 

 _If I wanted privacy I would do as Thorin has done and chose a separate chamber to sleep in_ , Bilbo thought, feeling sour at the king’s decision to separate himself physically from the company. The whole group still slept in close quarters, preferring to camp out in a larger living room than to take separate bedrooms. Bilbo waited until the fire had mostly died down, with the grey ashes glowing a sad red, before he rose to sneak out. What he didn’t notice was Bofur stirring in his sleep, then opening his eyes. Bilbo was so intent on being quiet that he failed so see Bofur’s eyes follow him out of the room.

 

Bilbo made it to the main gate before Bofur found him. Bilbo was pulling his pack out from behind the rubble when he heard a quiet, “Where are ye off to, at such an hour?”

 

Bilbo jumped then turned around quickly. Bofur looked at him with concern. “If ye don’t want to be in the coming battle, I’d understand. And I’d —“ Bofur’s throat closed up. He swallowed hard before continuing. “I’d be happy to know ye’d be safe from it all. For all that makes me a coward” Bofur finished, and stood looking just left of Bilbo’s head. 

 

“Bofur — I” Bofur’s eyes met Bilbo’s. “I’d rather. Well, I’d rather there was no fighting. Since I’m not - I’m not a dwarf they might listen to me — though you all might not want to see me at the end of it.” Bilbo then found himself unable to look at Bofur. He stared at his feet as he tried to quell the pounding of his heart. He didn’t notice Bofur approach until his booted feet were in front of his own.

 

Bilbo looked up, and Bofur had his hat in his hands. “I’ll not tell there others where ye’ve gone” Bofur said, “But if ye can, please stay out of the coming fight.” Bofur turned the hat around in his hands a few times, before placing it gently onto Bilbo’s head.

 

“Now the two things I’d like least to be harmed in this world can travel together to somewhere safer” Bofur said with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. Bilbo grabbed one of his now empty hands and stared at him for a moment. He then pulled Bofur into a hug, burying his head into Bofur’s neck.

 

“Please try to make it out alive. There’s no sense in dying for metal and stone! For all this is your home, it isn’t a home without family and friends and loved ones. If you die,” Bilbo’s voice shook, “I don’t know how anyone will find a home here.”

 

They stood like that, with Bilbo grabbing one of Bofur’s hands, one arm around the dwarf’s waist. Bofur had his free arm around Bilbo’s shoulders, head resting against Bilbo’s head. Bofur reached up and stroked the back of Bilbo’s neck, combing through what hair he could reach under the hat with his fingers.

 

“Ye’d - ye’d best be off now. Before the others awake. I’ll tell them ye and I had a talk about family and homes, alright? Bombur would believe that. I’ll tell them that you went off to use the toilet after we were done, and I thought ye’d be back after I fell asleep. Where ye’r going is yer own business, and I won’t let them stop ye.”

 

Bilbo pulled away. He looked at Bofur’s kind face and sad eyes, thinking about what it would be like to press his own lips against Bofur’s. _But it cannot happen. It would be unfair to him given that we may never see each other again, if Thorin has his way._ Instead of doing as he’d like, Bilbo squeezed Bofur’s hand. Bofur looked at him with concern and opened his mouth a few times without saying anything. Finally, Bofur pulled his hand back. Before Bilbo could move away, Bofur was shucking off his coat and placing it over the hobbit’s shoulders.

 

“Twill be cold at night. I can find a spare in one of the older rooms later, but ye’ll need a warm coat now.” Bofur said as Bilbo slid his arms into the coat. It was warm and heavy. The sleeves’ ended just before Bilbo’s fingertips, and the coat hung past his knees. Bofur smiled to see it, glad to see that very little of the hobbit would be exposed to the cold night air.

 

“Thank you.”

 

Bilbo stood staring at Bofur for a moment, then pulled him in for one last hug before walking out the main gate. He looked back a few times, and saw Bofur watching him until he could no longer see the dwarf. What he couldn’t see was Bofur standing there a long time after, looking at the door he’d left through. Bofur closed the door and relocked it before he returned to the room they’d left from. 

 

He looked around the room and saw that none of the others were awake. _With luck they won’t have noticed we’d gone. It won’t be hard to show my sadness at Bilbo’s choice to leave. Odds are Bombur will take it as betrayal instead of heartbreak._ Bofur thought sadly. 

 

As he drifted off to sleep, he thought about Bilbo’s reaction to leaving, and the feel of Bilbo pressed against him. Bofur, on the brink of sleep, resolved to tell Bilbo of his feelings should they both live through the coming days. This resolve did not save him from a fitful sleep and dreams of all the ways someone as small as Bilbo can come to harm in times of war. 

 

***

 

While Bilbo was struggling with thoughts of Bofur and peacetime, Dori was dealing with new and unexpected concerns about his youngest brother.  The same morning Balin stayed late at breakfast to speak with the hobbit, Dwalin had asked to speak to him. What Dori initially thought was to be a conversation about battle tactics turned out to be one about joining families. Traditionally, when two families arrange a marriage the heads of both houses meet — unless it was a suit of love or passion. Then the suitor would ask the head of the family directly, which was exactly what Dwalin had done. 

 

Dori knew Ori was a comely dwarf, even if Ori himself did not realize it. With a big nose and wide forehead, he was the picture of dwarfish youth; a picture many sought to have in their beds and homes, confusing passion and lust with love. Dori had become adept at scaring off suitors he believed would lose interest in Ori after bedding him. Many would have found Ori’s bookishness annoying to deal with, since he often forgot to eat or do his chores when he happened upon a new book. But his skill as a scribe was that of a master, and any partner would need to respect that.

 

Ori gained his journeyman status before his beard had come in. It was a point of pride for Dori, that his youngest brother had such skill at what was, for dwarves, one of the most difficult professions.  The tome he had carefully copied — a tale of a long dead hero of men — that had been the piece to win him his journeyman title had sold for enough to buy the small house the brothers lived in. The illuminated manuscript that had earned Ori his mastery sold for enough to feed the family for a year. Anyone who didn’t appreciate such skill was unworthy of Ori’s hand, as far as Dori was concerned.

 

And so, when Dwalin had come asking for Ori’s hand it was the first time Dori hadn’t thought the suitor was chasing after Ori’s looks. Dwalin had spent enough time around Ori to know his bookish ways, or how cranky Ori was when he hadn’t eaten, or how happy Ori was when he finished his writing projects. 

 

 _The Longbeard clan is a mighty one, and one of the largest. He’d be safe and never without a home should he marry into it._ Dori thought to himself as Dwalin presented his credentials as a suitor. His clan, skill in battle, and the rank he would hold upon the rebuilding of Erebor seemed to be his main arguments. _Keeping Ori close to home would be enough to encourage serious consideration_. Dori wasn’t sure if he should scold himself for such a selfish concern as Dwalin went on about his intentions of becoming head of the guard. _Though Dwalin would never guess that. He and his brother are used to spending long periods of time apart._  

 

The part of this suit that had surprised Dori the most was how Dwalin managed to point out how his talents would compliment Ori’s own skills and personality. Dori was used to suitors arguing about how the alliance would benefit both families, and that was never enough for Dori to see his brother move far from home. For all Dori knew it was his duty to rebuild his house to the standing it had before Erebor fell, the thought of the baby brother he’d help raise being sent off to live without kin was unbearable. While Dori told himself it was because Ori would be lonely, a part of him whispered that Dori himself couldn’t bear to lose the brother he’d taught to knit, the brother who spent his mornings as a child with his nose in a book. Dori couldn’t imagine never seeing the brother who was always coming home with ink-stained hands and clothes — hands and clothes Dori had lovingly washed. 

 

It was as an older brother, not as head of his old and venerable house, that Dori made his decisions about Ori’s marriage. And it was as an older brother that his concerns about Dwalin’s appropriateness as a suitor became conflicted. Before this talk, Dori would have thought in an instant that Dwalin was definitely not an option for Ori. He was rough, crude, and had a reputation when it came to his romantic activities. His reputation was no different from any other soldier who spent too much time training and fighting to settle down, and Dori didn’t begrudge him that. But he wanted someone who could understand Ori, his lifestyle, and his feelings. Until Dwalin came to speak to him, Dori never would have imagined the tattooed dwarf would be suitable for his baby brother.

 

But Dori had never heard a suitor argue that his rigid schedule would help stop Ori from missing meals. None of them had ever come with notes to the meeting (Dwalin’s notes were written in a messy script on crumpled paper, and he clearly hadn’t written full sentences, but they were notes nonetheless).

 

He’d certainly never had someone argue that having faced down fierce orcs gave him the bravery to suffer Ori’s attitude when he had gone a day without eating. Such an attitude, which shocked most upon first discovery, would not scare him off, Dwalin assured Dori. Dwalin would never let Ori’s crankiness stop him from encouraging the scribe to stop writing and eat. 

 

“And as I am the larger of us two, I’m sure — despite his temper — I could confiscate any book that stopped him from sleeping and eating should it become desperate,” Dwalin continued on, oblivious to Doris’ growing amazement.

 

“Of course, were I to do such a thing I would take care not to injure Ori’s work, for such fine work is rare and Ori’s histories will doubtless be treasured through generations” Dwalin was quick to assure Dori.

 

Dori also never had of a suitor offering to use their position as head of guard to keep Nori out of the worst mischief when he had the opportunity. Dwalin had looked down at his notes a few times as he boasted about his role as a guardsman. 

 

“For should your other brother act up, I’ll be able to bring him home for dinner with Ori — who would scold him better than I ever could,” Dwalin had said when Dori asked him about his skills as a guard.

 

Dwalin’s list of reasons why he was best suited for Ori continued on for a fair amount of time.

 

 _By Aulë, he seems half in love. Oh, I’d best talk to Ori to make sure he has acted prudently these last few weeks. It wouldn’t do to have Ori break the poor man’s heart by accident. At least Ori’s young age means I’d be the one to fight Balin for Dwalin’s honour, not Ori._ Dori cringed at the thought of Balin’s reaction if he thought someone had treated his brother poorly. It was the same reaction Dori would have should a romantic interest injure Ori. It was the same anger he’d had to direct at a young dwavish lass who’d injured Nori, and it was the rarity of her sex and her sedentary occupation that saved her from having to answer to Dori’s fists. 

 

Dori sorely regretted the lass wasn’t of warrior stock, or he’d have been able to bash some decency into her. Injuring a tradesman when one was a well known fighter was frowned upon, but tolerated should that tradesman have interfered with a minor or dependent under the warriors protection. The rarity of women, however, meant that they often got away with crimes men would not, since the need for children was great in most dwarvish communities. Dori banished memories of that time, since remembering that lass meant remembering the start of Nori’s slide into disrepute.

 

Once Dwalin had finished his speech, Dori asked him a few pointed questions about his household and career plans, his romantic history, and if he was absolutely sure he’d stay in Erebor. He also asked about what Dwalin expected Ori’s responsibilities would be as the younger of the bonded pair. After receiving nothing but satisfactory responses, Dori told Dwalin he would consider his suit.

 

“I need time to think, and time for Ori to think. It is hard for me, to think of him no longer in my household and under my protection. Battle is soon upon us, once this mess about the gold is done I’ll give you an answer.” Dori assured Dwalin, who bowed and thanked Dori for his consideration.

 

It was with all this in mind that Dori went to look for Ori. Glad to find him alone in the library, Dori asked “Did you know Dwalin was going to ask for your hand? He was most proper about it — much more proper than that awful red haired lad in Ered Luin”

 

Ori startled upon hearing Dori’s question. He jumped in his seat and nearly knocked over his ink-pot.

 

“I — well — he did what?”

 

“He came this morning to my room and asked for your hand. We spoke for quite some time.” Dori said, eyeing his brother. Ori looked very anxious, and a touch guilty. It was the same look he’d had four years ago when he stayed out all night and came home in the morning to find Dori an anxious wreck.

 

“I, well. That is — I thought it was just a bit of fun. He isn’t — he’s never wanted to marry before.” Ori said in a small voice as he fiddled with the edge of his cardigan. Dori could feel a headache coming on. _This is all Nori’s fault. If he wasn’t always breaking the rules Ori wouldn’t know how to!_

 

“What was a bit of fun? Please tell me you have not lost your —“

 

“No. I would never! We just kissed for a bit, but then he rushed off after and I thought — well I thought he was just making sure I knew he wasn’t serious. And I hadn’t planned on it being serious so I didn’t mind, but now —“

 

“Ori it’s not like I didn’t school you in the proper courtship behaviour. His suit did not come off as one of guilt, so I’ll trust that you did no more than kiss. I know the look of a dwarf who's done what they oughtn’t and offers marriage to appease their lover’s family. You can ask Nori about _that_ conversation. I doubt it was just a spot of fun for Dwalin.” Dori said angrily. His anger faded as he saw the distress in Ori’s face.

 

“I didn’t want to hurt him. I just thought he was thinking what I was. Oh Aulë curse it! I never thought someone like him would want more from me.” 

 

Ori was slowly curling into himself. Dori sat down in the chair next to his and asked, “Would you be happy with him? He seems half in love with you, so you’d not have to worry about him sleeping around, which is often a concern with political marriages. I’d like to have you married close to home, and Dwalin doesn’t intend to leave Erebor. As long as Nori stays close to home, we’d be able to see each other as often as we’d like.” 

 

Dori had to work to keep his anger at Ori’s foolishness out of his voice. _Well, he’s attracted to Dwalin, which is more than I’d expected. He could learn to love Dwalin, or at very least be happy with him._

 

“Between his family and his standing with Thorin, you’d have as much wealth as you’d ever want to buy books and inks. He’d never see you come to harm, which is more than I can say of the lads who chased after you in the Blue Mountain.” Dori continued, watching Ori’s face carefully. Ori seemed more confused and guilty than distressed, which Dori took as a good sign. _He might agree to the match._

 

“I don’t — I don’t know. I never really gave it much thought. Anyone before just wanted a bit of fooling, for all you tried to hide it from me, I knew. And I know I’m not supposed to want the same, but I didn’t want to marry far away! A bit of fooling, well that’s the fun bit of getting married without the move. So I never really thought about looking for more and I would never, unless I thought you’d approve.” Ori said, words spilling out of his mouth so fast they slurred and only familiarity allowed Dori to understand him.

 

Dori knew then that Ori would be sleepless tonight. He would lie with a pillow over his head thinking on what he should do and feeling guilt about what he had done, as he always did when he felt he’d harmed another through thoughtlessness. Dori resisted the urge to sigh, reminding himself that it was common for young dwarves to make such mistakes. Dori had little experience with the usual foolish behaviour of the young; he’d been the heir, so his father had rarely let him out of his sight. His first opportunity at freedom was after Erebor fells, and his duties to his brothers took precedence. Ori continued to fiddle with his clothes as Dori thought about how he could impress upon Ori the importance of acting properly.

 

_I almost want to ask Nori to talk to him about dealing with situations like these — though he’s the one who was lead on. Knowing how it feels to be on the other side might knock some sense into Ori. Mahal curse it! I thought it was for the best to keep knowledge of that girl’s action from Ori for Nori’s sake. If he’d been aware of what thoughtlessness can do — it’s too late to change the past. And I cannot ask Nori to speak about it now, for he’d do his best to find out who Ori had been involved with._

 

Ori’s hands were now focused on tying up loose ends in his mittens

_If only Nori hadn’t gotten in so much trouble with Dwalin two decades past! If he finds out, doubtless he’ll challenge Dwalin to a duel over Ori’s honour. He’d never believe Ori was the instigator and goodness knows Dwalin’s honour wouldn’t take accusations of force or deceit._

 

Dori sighed. “Well, it’s something you ought to think about. If you keep away from Dwalin these next few days he’ll probably think it’s because I’ve told you to.” Dori paused for a moment, considering his next words.

 

“You should be thankful your behaviour can be excused by your age. If you were any older Balin would be entitled to call you out on improprieties towards Dwalin, for all he’s older than you. Leading someone to have deeper feelings than you have, or intend to have, is a serious offense. Which is something you should well know! That was the point of all those etiquette lessons — to make sure you knew how to declare your intent.” 

 

Dori could see Ori tense, though he said nothing. “You’re old enough now that your actions will have repercussions. With luck you’ll never break a heart or injure someone’s honour grievously. All else can be forgiven with time.”

 

Ori kept his eyes on the bottom of his sweater. Dori put an arm around him and said, “Now, we’ve got more to worry about than weddings. I’ll have Nori go over some knife work with you, hmm? It’s long since time you’ve learned how to handle more than a quill. We can’t have you unarmed during battle, so I’ll pray you take to blades as Nori did. I would only ask that you refrain from mentioning this business with Dwalin. Nori won’t react well to your _involvement_ , or Dwalin’s proposal.”

 

***

 

Bilbo sat alone in the room Bard had arranged for him to have for his stay in Lake-town. It was a smaller room and it was probably intended as servants quarters. Bilbo knew that having a room, let alone to oneself, was a luxury now that the town was half destroyed by fire. He’d given Bard the Arkenstone as a bargaining chip, and the man had set off with some elves to try and negotiate with Thorin. _It isn’t right._ Bilbo thought to himself, _surely there are others in need of a roof. I’ve slept outdoors these last few weeks, and I could do it again without much hardship_. 

 

Bilbo’s thoughts drifted towards the feeling of Bofur lying close to him. Bilbo hadn’t realized how hard falling asleep alone would be until he tried to nap in his room. Without the sounds of Bofur’s breath, or the other dwarves shifting in their sleep, Bilbo couldn’t relax enough to fall asleep. His mind was too distracted by the loudness of the silence around him, constantly straining for a familiar noise. And without an arm around him, Bilbo felt cold. The heavy blankets he’d been gifted with did little to comfort him. Even pulling the hat down further on his head wasn’t enough to hasten sleep’s arrival. He spent the rest of the night, what little remained after he arrived in Lake-town and explained his presence, tossing and turning until the sun rose. At that point, Bilbo gave up on getting any rest.

 

So instead of sleeping, he sat on his bed contemplating his future actions. He took the hat off of his head and held it to his chest. He had to fight to keep his thoughts from a future that would involve Bofur, knowing a future with him had died when he chose to betray Erebor. _Though Bofur didn’t seem to mind,_ a small voice in the back of Bilbo’s mind whispered. Bilbo pushed that thought away. _Once he finds out I gave up the Arkenstone, he’ll realize how unsuitable I am. I’m not a dwarf! I cannot place shining stones above life like they can._

 

Bilbo tried to think of other matters but thoughts of waking up with Bofur flitted through his mind. Nor could he suppress nightmares of battles which arose whenever he got rid of thoughts of Bofur. Bilbo imagined the company he’d come to be so close to fall to the weapons of men and elves, outnumbered beyond hope. Bilbo clenched his fists when his mind brought up images of Bofur dead, or dying. He realized he’d do little to escape his thoughts sitting in a lonely room.

 

 _That’s it! I’m off to find something to do._ Bilbo thought to himself. He contemplated wearing the hat out, then remembered the looks on men’s faces when they saw him wearing it. _They liken me enough to a child as it is. The hat will only encourage that_ , he thought glumly. While Bilbo was tempted to leave the hat in the room, he couldn’t bring himself to be parted from it. Bilbo found a large pocket on the inside of Bofur’s jacket and folded the hat so it would fit inside.

 

He left his room, Sting strapped to his waist. He wandered through the house, finding no welcome faces. Cautiously, he left out the back door and wandered through the town. He found in the town square a makeshift half open shack, with the men inside preparing food. There was a large pot of porridge on the fire, and many harrowed looking townspeople lining up.

 

Bilbo peered inside, watching men and women who looked harried rush about cutting and cleaning vegetables, chopping meat and stewing bones. When one of them caught sight of him they came over to scold him. 

 

“Now then, you’re to wait in line with the rest. If you’ve still got parents, you’d best go stand with them” The woman said, mistaking Bilbo for a child, seeing only a beardless face and oversized coat.

 

“I’m not here for food” Bilbo said, his deep voice shocking the woman.

 

“You’re the halfling Bard’s housing, aren’t you?” The woman said, wiping her hands on her apron.

 

“Yes, I am. Hobbits are fond of cooking. I thought I might offer my services” Bilbo said with a small bow, inspiration striking him. The woman looked at him skeptically, but accepted his offer. She sent him off to a lower table to chop parsnips.

 

“These aren’t the best,” she said, “But they’re what survived. Do your best to remove the gungy bits. We’re throwing those in a bucket in the corner for pig feed. The rest is to be luncheon and dinner.” She pointed to where he was to dispose of the bits not fit for humans, and to the pot the rest of the vegetables were to go in, then left him be. Bilbo set Sting on the ground beside him and got to work.

 

Bilbo spent his afternoon preparing vegetables, cleaning and cooking. He was borrowed from the soup kitchen by the baker, who needed someone who knew about bread making. Bilbo, who’d helped out at many Took family gatherings, was used to forming buns quickly. He returned to the soup kitchen just after dark, and it was there that Bard found him.

 

Bilbo was scrubbing pots when he overheard the woman he first met speaking, “Oh, aye, your halfling is here. He’s been a great help, that one. I’ll fetch him for you. Thoughtful lad like him probably didn’t mean to scare you.”

 

She came back to where he was, and Bilbo was already rising from his task. He stretched out his arms and back as she brought him to the front. Bard was standing with a wooden bowl in each hand. He nodded his head to the left, and Bilbo followed him to sit on the edge of a fallen stone wall.

 

“Thorin will not hear of peace. His kind should arrive in a matter of days. Marching, as dwarves will, to protect their gold. The Arkenstone did stop his ranting for a moment, though the offer of ransome only angered him further” Bard said, and Bilbo’s heart dropped. He looked down at his stew, saying nothing. 

 

“He has also said,” Bard paused, and looked away from the hobbit, “that you are not to return to the mountain.”

 

Bilbo couldn’t say that he was surprised, but it pained him nonetheless to think of Thorin’s anger. _I might never see Bofur again,_ he thought morosely. _But if Balin was right, perhaps he’ll leave the mountain to seek me out,_ Bilbo’s mind contradicted itself, and he chose to focus on his hopeful thought. It didn’t reassure him for long. Bard, after waiting for a response, and getting none, spoke again.

 

“I have other news for you as well, halfling. Two things, one which might make you stay, and one which might make you leave. I’ll fault you not for whichever you choose.”

 

“And what news would that be?” Bilbo asked, taking a spoonful of stew. He chewed slowly on the sinewy meat.

 

“A wizard has come, one who must be a friend of yours, for he asked after you. But he has come to warn us of orcs and goblins coming to invade. Without the dragon smaug, there are many who hope to steal the treasures of the Lonely mountain.”

 

“A wizard? Is it Gandalf!?” Bilbo asked excitedly. It was the first time Bard had seen the halfling smile.

 

“Aye. He’ll be joining our war council this evening. He’s asked that I bring you, though he was insistent that you eat first. Tomorrow he hopes to shake some sense into the dwarves.”

 

Bilbo attended the war council that evening sitting at Gandalf’s side. When they first reunited, Gandalf asked after the dwarves. When Bilbo relayed his past few days, the wizard was saddened to hear of Bilbo’s exile.

 

“Thorin will come to his senses with time” Gandalf said to Bilbo when he heard the news.

 

“I doubt it. He’s always been stubborn. It was hard enough to gain his approval the first time. I doubt I can win it back,” Bilbo said despondently.

 

“And the other dwarves accepted you more quickly. Bofur has probably already forgiven you,” Gandalf said knowingly. Bilbo made a rather undignified noise at the implication and Gandalf smiled. 

 

He put an arm around Bilbo and said,”My dear boy, I’ve never wanted you to be anything but happy. If a toymaking dwarf can do that, I’ll do what I can to ensure you can see him again.”

 

The rest of the council meeting Bilbo was silent and tried to focus on the talk of defense instead of the number of orcs and goblins marching down towards Erebor and Lake-town. Bilbo tried not to think of the coming battle, or what the company might look like at the end of it.

***

 

Bofur was doing his best to avoid Thorin. One look at Bofur’s hatless head was enough to send the king questioning him about his knowledge of Bilbo’s departure. Later those questions shifted to accusations of aiding the burglar give up the Arkenstone. Fortunately for Bofur, his shock on hearing the news had been evident and Thorin’s questioning stopped. 

 

Kili and Fili had both been giving him pitying looks whenever he passed, and Bofur had been resolutely avoiding his brother whenever Bombur tried to engage him in a conversation about the hobbit. He was currently hiding on the parapets above the main gate, too caught up in his own thoughts to hear the horse riding towards the gates.

 

Bofur was fine with lying about his knowledge of Bilbo’s departure, but he didn’t think he could keep quiet if the other dwarves chose to malign Bilbo’s character. _I’ll not hear them speak ill of him. I can’t. They’ll call him a traitor, then accuse him of leading me on to disguise his intent. Aulë above, for all I know for my own safety I should stay silent about his actions, I know I would fail if pressed. He’s done what he thinks is right and I will not fault him for that._

 

Feeling a cold draft rise up his neck, Bofur smiled. _At least Bilbo accepted my hat. When we next meet_ \-- Bofur’s thoughts were interrupted by Gandalf from the ground below.

 

“Thorin Oakenshield, show yourself immediately for we are to have words” The wizard boomed, his voice filling the air and shaking Bofur’s bones. Without being in the mountain, he knew that Gandalf’s voice must have been heard by every dwarf preparing for battle inside.

 

Bofur peered over the edge to look at Gandalf, whose face showed nothing but fury. _I do hope Bilbo isn’t hurt._ Was his first thought, and he unable to conceive of any other situation that would cause the wizard to be so enraged. Bofur reached to his head to tug his hat down, and remembered only when his hand grasped air that he’d sent it along with Bilbo.

 

 _It’s a good luck charm. He can’t have died. Gandalf must be here to try and stop the coming battle._ Bofur reassured himself, lowering himself back onto the ground. He stayed low to the ground as he heard angry footsteps approach. Thorin strode out, and it was only in the daylight that Bofur saw how sickly his king looked. His hair was greasy, though it had never appeared so during their long trek to Erebor, and his skin had taken on a grey tone. Dark rings circled his bloodshot eyes.

 

“So the wizard has returned? Have you come to steal my gold as well? I can promise you dwarves from the Iron Hills will be here soon to protect it and nothing will stop me from avenging the theft of the Arkenstone.” Thorin said furiously.

 

Bofur could see the sky darkening around him, and he was very glad not to be looking at Gandalf.

 

“You would accuse me of common theft? I have come here for your sake, and for the sake of those you once claimed to care for. You are so keen to have an army of thieves to fight, and you shall have that which you desire and more. An army of Orcs, guided by Azog and his son come to take what they can from Erebor, and they are accompanied by an army of Goblins.” Gandalf yelled, his voice once again shook through Bofur’s bones like thunder. Bofur could see Thorin visibly deflate, shock overriding anger on his face.

 

Gandalf no longer looked angry, and his voice was much softer, almost comforting as he spoke again, telling Thorin, “Dain Ironfoot’s army will not be enough to guarantee that you and your kin will see winter come. The men and elves are prepared to fight together, and if you are to survive you must join them in the coming battle. Use your sense, you cannot fight three armies and live to speak of it. Three armies can, however, survive the orcs and goblins that march on Erebor.” 

 

Thorin seemed torn, looking at Gandalf, then away, then back at him. “I will come down. These matters are best discussed face to face” he said, before quickly leaving the parapet. 

 

 _Oh, my poor hobbit. He’d best do as I advised and stay out of battle. This’ll be worse than any fight between dwarves and elves._ Bofur thought of orcish cruelty on the battlefield. He’d heard tales of what had happened at Moria. No one had expected Bifur to return home once tales of the slaughter had reached the Blue Mountains. Bofur remembered grieving for his cousin, since the tales left little room for hope of his return. When Bifur had shown up a month later on the doorstep, confusion clouding his eyes as he spoke in broken Khuzdul, the family had praised Mahal, and spent the night praying thanks for his mercy. As far as Bofur was concerned, Bifur’s broken mind was a small enough price to pay for his return. 

 

 _I’d love Bilbo still, should he be injured in the same way. But I am no great fighter, nor am I hardy like Bifur,_ Bofur thought sadly, _so it’s doubtful I will live through battle. I know when I think with sense it’s better for Bilbo to never know of my love, though I’ll heartily regret that I never told him when I fall._

 

_***_

 

Bilbo made a point of avoiding Thorin once he realized the dwarf was in Lake-town. He skipped the war council, instead choosing to help a group of women who salvaging clothes to repair for those in need. Bilbo stayed out late, watching the moon rise in the sky as he sewed with the skill of a long time bachelor. The women who had families to return to left early, and those whose families had been broken stayed long into the night in silence. Bilbo sewed with them until he saw some of the men who’d attended the last war council stumble home. It was only then that he felt he could seek out Gandalf without fear of seeing Thorin.

 

Gandalf explained that Dain’s army would arrive in two days, and the goblins and orcs would be upon them in four.

 

“You know, Bilbo, no one would fault you for leaving. You’ve done what you came to do and you’ve had enough of an adventure for the lifetime of ten hobbits” Gandalf said quietly.

 

“I’ll not abandon my friends, for all they might think I have” Bilbo replied.

 

Gandalf sighed, then offered Bilbo a sad smile. “Then when the time comes, you shall ride into battle with me. Shadowfax has not let me come to harm before, and he will do his best to keep you safe as well.”

 

***

 

Bilbo spent the next four days watching as elves and men prepared for battle, and as the dwarves of the Iron Hills set up camp in front of the Lonely Mountain. During this time, whenever Gandalf was not in meetings, he was teaching Bilbo swordsmanship beyond waving and jabbing.

 

When the day of the battle was upon them, he took his place with Gandalf. Bard had arranged for some boiled leathers to be cut down to his size as a small protection against harm. It was as he put Bofur’s coat on overtop of the leathers that Bilbo remembered the hat. He put it over his head, unconcerned about what he might look like. _It doesn’t matter what I look like on the day I die._

 

Gandalf smiled when he saw Bilbo. It was not a mocking smile, or one of amusement. It seemed almost hopeful, though the wizard didn’t comment on Bilbo’s attire. Gandalf lifted the hobbit onto a beautiful white horse, then mounted behind him. They joined the army of men and elves, and stood waiting for the enemy to be upon them.

 

The waiting was the hardest part. A detached part of Bilbo’s mind told him that he’d been waiting no more than an hour once Gandalf had taken his position with the leaders of the elves. That cool part of his mind, however, did nothing to reassure the rest of him. It felt like half a day had passed before Bilbo heard Gandalf give Shadowfax to command to charge. It was only once Bilbo was rushing towards the snarling hoard that time sped up. He drew Sting, which glowed blue in his hand. The glow gave him an unexpected feeling of hope, and held his sword more firmly as Gandalf had taught him. Glamdring shone in Gandalf’s hand, and time seemed to speed up as they rode into the front lines of the Goblin army. The orcs came from another direction, meeting the dwarvish army head on. 

 

It was chaos, worse than the spiders or goblin town. The clash of steel and yells of anger and pain filled the air, loud enough to drown out even Gandalf’s voice. Bilbo could barely hear the wizard yell in fear when the hobbit was pulled down from Shadowfax. Bilbo acted on instinct, gutting the goblin that dragged him to the ground. Gandalf was too far from him now, though he was clearly trying to reach the hobbit. Bilbo saluted him, pulled out his golden ring and disappeared. Gandalf’s face showed obvious relief, as he hoped the invisibility would protect Bilbo as he had failed to. It was not a thought he could dwell on for more than a moment, for goblins tried to pull the wizard down from his horse, and he returned all his attention to the battle.

 

If the battle had been less dire Gandalf would have noticed a flapped hat fall onto the ground, and an odd empty space between a man who had fallen and a goblin that was killed on top of him. In the roar of battle such small details are left unnoticed, and the hat was not found until the search for the dead began the next morning.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for taking so long to update. Term has started again, so I'm afraid I will be taking more time to write these last chapters. I do have detailed notes for what I plan to do, so do not fear that I will abandon this fic! I have every intention of finishing, it just might take me longer than I'd hoped :)
> 
> Dearest OP, if you are still reading this, this is the chapter that gets to the specific request in your prompt. However, it's not 100% true to the request (more like 75%) - but I think I got the heart of the prompt if not the details. I hope you're still happy with it.


	6. Battles Won

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this has taken so long to finish. I'm a student and essay season and exam season hit me harder than I expected, and I apologize for not finishing this sooner.

Bofur was one of the lucky ones to make it out of the battle with only minor injuries. The bruising that sunk into his bones would heal in time, though the pain mingled with the pain his worry was causing. His heart felt like it had been run through, since no one had seen a hobbit since the start of the battle. When the call had come out for volunteers to search for survivors, Bofur was one of the first to step forward. He searched for hours, and carried a few injured soldiers back to the healers’ tents. Many had been dwarves, though he and another dwarf had carried an elf back together, and later he found a man.

 

Dark had long since fallen when Bofur stepped on something surprisingly soft. He looked down and saw a familiar shape — his hat. Picking it up, he could see it was stained with dirt and blood, and seeing the red smears caused his knees to give out. Bofur fell to the ground hard, looking all around for the hobbit who should be with the hat.

 

_He must be buried under a pile of dead,_ Bofur thought. The area around him was completely still and silent. The bodies were stacked up to Bofur’s shoulder, and the metallic smell of blood filled the air. _There’s no way he survived, how could he? Small as he is, and gentle as he is._ Bofur could feel his heart breaking. His mind was running through all the times he spent with Bilbo, and he could almost see himself storing each memory in a heavy metal chest so he would never forget a single moment. The battlefield seemed grayer than before. _Grey my world will stay until I join Bilbo in the eternal halls,_ Bofur cringed, too numb to cry. _That is, if hobbits may go to those halls. For all I know they have their own final resting place, and I’ll spend eternity in a dull world of grief._

 

Bofur couldn’t entirely feel his feet or legs as he made his way back to camp. Walking past the tents of the injured, everything seemed washed out; the colours were faded, like a shirt that’s been through the wash too many times. In a way it was a blessing, the vibrant red of fresh blood had dulled to a grey red. Old blood went from a rusty brown to the colour of dirt. With the greying came a sort of surreal calm, as though Bofur wasn’t quite in the world around him. _Half here, half there. That’s how Aunt Mira described it when her husband died, though it never made sense ’till now._ Bofur wandered through the camp until he found his older brother at a communal fire making some sort of broth for the injured.

 

“Here,” Bofur said to him, holding out his hat.

 

“Do ye want me to wash it for ye? Surely ye can do that on yer own. Ye might have noticed that I’m a bit busy at the moment,” Bombur replied crossly.

 

“No, I’d like ye to burn it. I don’t think I can bring myself to, but it needs to be done.” Bofur said, cringing at how hollow his voice sounded. Bombur stopped mixing the broth and reach out to his brother.

 

“What do ye—“

 

“Bilbo’s dead. He must be, or else how would I have my hat back?” Bofur answered his brother’s unfinished question. He stepped back, avoiding Bombur’s open arms, and pushed his hat into Bombur’s hand.

 

“Until they find a body, ye can’t know that,” Bombur assured him. Bofur just shook his head.

 

“I can’t — I can’t be out here with the blood and dying. Do ye know of any others from our company killed, so I might grieve for them as I grieve for all else I’ve lost?”

 

“Bofur, stop this. Ye just sit here and I’ll —“ Bomber tried to guide his brother to a place by the fire, but Bofur refused to move.

 

“Who else?”

 

“Fili and Kili. We don’t know about Thorin yet, if he’ll live,” Bombur replied sadly.

 

“I’ll sing for them when I send songs to the eternal halls,” Bofur replied. He hadn’t thought his heart could feel more pain, but losing the two young princes proved him wrong.

 

“And ye can sing for them here, with others to keep you company,” Bomber insisted.

 

“I”ll say goodbye to them where I said goodbye to our parents,” Bofur said. Bombur looked horrified and tried to grab his brother to stop him, but Bofur had taken off quickly, running towards the gates of Erebor.

 

***

Bilbo woke up slowly, not entirely sure whether he was awake at first; his head was numb, and he wasn’t entirely sure what was going on with his arms. Soon, though, his head began to throb, and Bilbo could feel his arms, along with the rest of his body, squashed underneath something. A strong smell of blood and rot wafted around him as he squirmed, trying to get out from whatever was covering him. Eventually Bilbo breathed in cold air, though it also smelled of blood. He felt the wind in his hair and wriggled harder. Once his shoulders were free, he pulled his arms out and pushed himself away from what he now realized was a pile of bodies.

 

As soon as Bilbo was free from the corpses, he looked around, and saw the empty shells of those who fought littering the ground around him. He pressed the back of his hand to his mouth, but it did little good. The bile rose in his throat and he bent over to vomit. A strangely reasonable sounding part of his mind thought, _Well, at least it’s only on my shoes and not the rest of me_. 

 

He looked around, his eyes strained looking for any movement. Off in the distance, a figure on horseback slowly plodded through the battleground. The figure wore a familiar hat, but he was looking in the opposite direction, and Bilbo briefly wondered why he hadn’t been noticed. _The ring_ , his mind suggested helpfully. With shaking hands, he pulled the ring off and put it in his pocket.

 

“Hullo,” Bilbo tried to say, but all that came out was a dry squeak. It should not have reached the ears of the figure, but the man turned around and began to make his way towards Bilbo. When the man came close enough, he slid off his horse and gathered Bilbo in his arms.

 

“My dear Bilbo, the dwarves had given up hope of seeing you again,” Gandalf said, and he let go of Bilbo only to examine the hobbit for injuries.

 

“I was knocked out while I had my magic ring on,” Bilbo replied. Gandalf raised his eyebrows and Bilbo pulled the ring out of his pocket to show the wizard.

 

“I picked it up in Gollum’s cave. I put it on when I was dragged from Shadowfax,” Bilbo explained.

 

“I see. That would explain how you’ve managed some of your feats on this journey. Now, you must come with me. Thorin has been asking after you, and no one had the heart to tell him you were thought to be dead.” Gandalf said, and he lifted the hobbit and placed him on Shadowfax’s back.

 

“What on earth would Thorin want with me? To yell at me again?”

 

“No, Bilbo, I suspect he wants to apologize, something he wants so badly even if it’s the last thing he does, which it might very well be,” the wizard said quietly.

 

“You mean to say that he’s been injured?”

 

“Mortally so.”

 

Bilbo fell quiet after that. Shadowfax walked quickly as he walked back to the lonely mountain, but the horse was nimble enough to avoid stepping on most of the corpses they passed. Bilbo didn’t see any of the dwarves he was familiar with as they entered a makeshift camp. Dwarves passed him on stretchers, and other were lying out in the open as their companions sewed up injuries and set bones. When they came to a large, blue tent, Gandalf dismounted and helped the hobbit down. As soon as his feet were on the ground, he heard Oin’s voice loudly behind him.

 

“Thank Aule, you’ve found him!” the healer cried out. A few of the guards standing around looked over with interest, though Bilbo knew none of them. Oin rushed him inside the tent, and stayed outside with Gandalf.

 

***

 

Bilbo wasn’t sure how long he sat with Thorin as the king slowly spoke of his regrets, but from the sound of Thorin’s voice and the way his lungs struggled to drag in air, Bilbo knew even the time he had with the king was precious. Thorin eventually closed his eyes, and asked Bilbo to send Oin back in. The hobbit exited the tent, and asked after Oin. The dwarf appeared almost instantly and asked “Has he passed?”

 

“Not yet, though he’s close,”

 

“I’ll do my best to keep him going until he can formally recognize Dain,” Oin replied, then quickly ducked back into the tent. Bilbo looked at Gandalf and asked, “Why would Dain need to be recognized? Thorin had Fili and Kili.”

 

Gandalf’s sad look told him what his mind refused to believe.

 

“They’ll be his guards in death, as they were in life.”

 

At that moment, Bilbo’s felt bile rising in his throat once again, and he pressed a hand to his mouth to still the urge to be ill. He sat down hard in the muddy ground and held his head in his hands, shaking his head in a silent attempt to deny the loss of two young lives. Gandalf rushed forward and pulled him back up to his feet.

 

“Who else? Is Bofur —?“ Bilbo asked anxiously, grabbing Gandalf’s arms with an iron grip.

 

“No one else. They’re all safe, though I cannot say for sure where that particular dwarf has ended up.”

 

“I’ve lost his hat, and I need to apologize. I need to tell him - Gandalf, I need to say, that is, he might have died not knowing,” Bilbo’s voice got quieter as he spoke, and the wizard put a comforting arm around the hobbit.

 

“You can tell Bofur all you need to, but not until you’ve gotten some food in you. I won’t have you passing out so soon after I’ve found you.”

 

Gandalf guided Bilbo over to some communal fires and half forced broth down the hobbit’s throat. Bilbo drank quickly, determined to find the dwarf he had grown so fond of. Once he was finished, he began to search the camp. He came across Bombur and Bifur first, who were sitting morosely near a fire. Bofur’s hat was in Bombur’s hands.

 

Bombur looked surprised see Bilbo, but the surprise on his face quickly gave way to a sour look. It was Bifur, not Bombur, who ended up serving Bilbo some of the broth Bombur had made. Bifur hovered around him muttering in the dwarfish tongue, sounding oddly more sensible than he had in the entire time Bilbo had known him. As Bilbo quickly drank the broth, Bifur lightly touched his arms and torso, checking for hidden injuries. Once he was done, he called out to his cousin, sounding heartily relieved. Bombur replied with a short, curt series of dwarfish words. Bifur replied with what was clearly a rude gesture and a dirty look.

 

“Please, could you tell me where Bofur is?” Bilbo asked Bombur once he’d finished the broth. He tried to meet the cook’s eyes, but his attention kept drifting down to the hat in his hands. Bombur was silent, so Bilbo tried again.

 

“I - he hasn’t been hurt has he? I can’t think of another reason why he would not take his hat with him.”

 

“Aye, he’s been hurt - and it’s the kind of hurt ye can only make worse,” Bombur replied.

 

“Excuse me? I would never hurt Bo-”

 

“Ye already have. He’s wasting of the heartsickness that accompanies a broken heart. He’ll live through it if he thinks yer dead - which he believes, since all he could find after a day of searching was his hat, and neither hide nor tail of you on the battlefield. If he knows ye don’t love him back, he might just die of it. It’s best to let him go on thinkin' ye’ve fallen in battle,” Bombur interrupted, his voice cracking near the end of his outburst. Bombur’s face was white with fear, and he clutched the hat in his hands tighter.

 

Bilbo was at a loss for words. He opened his mouth a few times, but could not find the words to reassure Bombur that he had no such intentions. _That explains Balin’s cryptic words about love_. Bifur made a few angry gestures at Bombur, who closed his eyes to avoid seeing them.

 

“Lad, he’s asked me to burn his hat and I intend to do it. If ye could just leave now, it would do us all a world of good,” Bombur said, then turned away from the hobbit.

 

_Well, why should I leave? I haven’t said yes or no to - to Bofur courting me, now have I? If he loves me - well - I’ve certainly got feelings to equal his. Bombur has no right to tell me to leave without making them known._

 

Bilbo suddenly had an idea. He bowed to Bifur, who looked extremely distressed, then pulled out his ring and winked. This prompted a wide grin from the older dwarf, who bowed back at Bilbo before the hobbit disappeared. Bilbo quickly walked past Bombur, making sure not to brush against him and give away his position. He stood in front of Bombur, whose grip on the hat had loosened, then grabbed the hat from his hands and made off with it at a run. Bilbo saw Bombur’s eyes widen as he initially grabbed the hat, but he did not stick around for Bombur to remember his tale about the ring. He heard the cook yell at him to return, but Bilbo did not look back.

 

Bilbo wandered around the camp looking for a sign of Bofur, but he could not find the toymaker. Eventually, Bilbo came across Ori, who was pacing anxiously in front of a tent. He would occasionally move to go inside, then stop himself. Bilbo pulled his ring off and approached the young dwarf.

 

“Ah, Bilbo. It’s good to see you. All in one piece, too!” Ori said with forced cheerfulness.

 

“Ori have you --” Bilbo was surprised to find himself cut off by the frantic scribe.

 

“Have you seen my brothers? They’re likely cross with me for running off.”

 

“No, I haven’t. Have you seen Bofur? And why would you run away from Dori and Nori?”

 

“Bofur - oh, he ran inside the mountain. It looked as though he was making his way to the old mine entrance. As for my brothers, well, it wouldn’t be proper for me to visit Dwalin without a chaperone. Not since he’s made me an offer of marriage. But, well, you see, I can’t just wait until one of them comes to sit with me. They’re both so busy with other things. Once they find out where I am, I’m sure to be dragged off to make lists of the dead and missing,” Ori replied, sounding miserable.

 

“If you’ll tell me how to find Bofur, I’ll keep an eye out for them while you sneak in to visit Dwalin. I can’t stay long, however. If you intend to sit with him for more than a few moments, sneaking out will be up to you alone,” Bilbo replied, doing his best to keep desperation out of his voice.

 

“Oh, uhhh. Give me a moment to remember how to get there,” Ori replied, then closed his eyes and twitched his fingers about as he thought.

 

“Do you remember how to get to the throne room?” Ori asked, and waited for Bilbo to nod before continuing, “Instead of taking the main hall to the throne room, take the hallway to the left, and at the end of that hall are four more options. Bofur would probably be in whichever lead to lower level I can’t remember which hallway that is, so take whichever goes the deepest.” 

 

“I’ll distract Dori or Nori if they seem to be approaching,” Bilbo said as way of thanks.

 

“Does Bofur think you’re dead?” Ori asked suddenly, as he connected Bilbo’s search with the toymakers earlier actions. The desperate look on Bilbo’s face was the only answer he needed.

 

“Oh, don’t wait for me to visit Dwalin. I’ve already gotten in trouble with Dori for how I’ve behaved towards him. I can’t get in much more trouble for visiting him when he’s too ill to act, uh, well, amorously,” Ori reassured Bilbo.

 

Having admitted this out loud to another person seemed to have steeled Ori’s resolve, for the young dwarf waved goodbye then ducked into the tent he had been pacing in front of. Bilbo stared in surprise for a moment as he heard the scribe say in a loud, high and half-hysterical voice “Mister Dwalin, if you die, I cannot agree to marry you, so you’d best live long enough for us to get married. Dori’s agreed to it, and even though it came as a surprise to me, I’ll agree to it as well. But if you don’t wake up soon, how am I to face Balin and ask for his blessing?”

 

Ori’s voice quieted down after his initial declaration, and he continued to speak of the end results of the battle. Bilbo slipped his ring on once again and made his way inside the mountain. Bilbo was thankful for his small stature, as he was able to slip past the dwarves bustling about the main entrance without so much as bumping one of them. He followed Ori’s directions as best he could. In the end, he didn’t need to follow the steepest path, but instead followed the path which echoed with quiet sobs.

 

Bilbo walked slowly and quietly as he approached Bofur. He was sitting with one shoulder leaning against the wall, with his knees drawn close to his body. didn’t do much good. The dwarf has his back to Bilbo, and had stuffed one of his hands into his mouth to muffle the noise of his sobs. Bofur cried much like he laughed, loudly and with a lot of feeling. His other hand was wrapped around his torso in a sad attempt at self comfort.

 

Bilbo turned the hat around a few times in his hands before walking closer, moving quietly until he stood in front of the dwarf. He placed the hat on Bofur’s head, then pushed it down so it covered his ears as it ought to. The hat seemed to snap Bofur out of his reverie, and Bilbo pulled his gold ring off his finger.

 

The two stared at each other in silence before Bilbo offered a weak smile.

 

“I heard you were looking for me,” Bilbo said quietly, then he sank down to his knees to kneel in front of the toymaker. Bofur touched his hat, then looked away from Bilbo.

 

“I’ve gone mad. I’ve not heard of this happening to anybody with the heartsickness, but no one else I’ve known ever loved a hobbit. Who knew Bilbo would come back to haunt me? It’s a sad comfort to have,” Bofur whispered, more to himself than to Bilbo. The hobbit’s shoulders sank briefly, then inspiration struck and he squared them once more. Bilbo leaned forward towards Bofur, who was doing his best to avoid making eye contact, then grabbed the flaps of Bofur’s hat. Carefully, holding the dwarf still, Bilbo gently pressed his lips against Bofur’s.

 

The dwarf made a surprised noise before slowly moving one hand behind Bilbo’s neck. Bofur tilted his head and pulled Bilbo closer to deepen the kiss. Bilbo placed one hand on the ground to steady himself as he did his best to press closer to Bofur. The toymaker responded by wrapping another arm around Bilbo’s waist and pulling the hobbit closer. Bilbo’s knees were on the ground on either side of Bofur, and he lifted the hand which had previously been steadying him to Bofur’s front. He slid his hand under the dwarf’s shirt, and brushed his thumb against Bofur’s ribs before reaching around to touch the bare skin of Bofur’s back. His other hand traveled away from the hat to Bofur’s neck. The pair stayed like this for another few moments, kissing one another roughly. The bruising pace eventually slowed, and Bofur began to lay kisses down the side of Bilbo’s neck.

 

“I thought I’d lost ye,” Bofur said between kisses. _If he doesn’t stop soon, he might leave a mark_ , Bilbo thought to himself as the kisses lowered to his collarbone.

 

“Ah, yes. Your brother explained as much,” Bilbo replied breathlessly. This was the wrong thing to say, since Bofur stopped his kisses once Bilbo mentioned Bombur. Bofur pulled away and put a hand to his face.

 

“Oh, Aule. If he finds out how, how personal we’ve been without a chaperone, I’ll never hear the end of it. Battle or no, this was terrible presumptuous of me.”

 

“Presumptuous? I kissed you first, you might remember, and so you weren’t presuming anything by responding in kind.” Bilbo replied in a teasing tone. A wave of relief washed through him to hear that propriety was Bofur’s only concern.

 

“Aye, but I’ve yet to ask yer family,”

 

“You wouldn’t need to. Even if they still lived, parents in the Shire must sway to the love of their child and accept the match if it’s made in good faith,” Bilbo explained, pushing closer to Bofur.

 

“Besides, how can you be sure the depth of your love if you can’t express it privately? Within reason, of course, but a few kisses are seen as merely testing the waters, so to speak,” Bilbo continued. Bofur looked surprised, then grinned.

 

“Ye’ll have to speak to my brother about a marriage, mostly for a blessing. I’m the older so he can’t refuse, but Bifur has the right to, as the one who helped raise us. I don’t think he’d say no, though,” Bofur explained, then pulled the hobbit close once again. He lay kisses behind Bilbo’s ear, then nipped the lobe gently.

 

“If he finds out about this, we can just say it’s a cultural difference. Though if ye hadn’t nearly died today I’d have to insist on holding off for propriety’s sake” Bofur said in a quiet low voice. Bilbo nodded eagerly, smiling at the mischievous tone that had returned to Bofur’s voice, and then kissing began again. Bofur pushed Bilbo back until he lay on the floor. Bilbo grabbed the hat back off Bofur’s head and put it on his own to protect himself from the harsh rock beneath him. Bofur’s hands slipped inside Bilbo’s shirt. Bofur’s work roughened fingertips scratched in a light pleasant way as they explored the skin around the hobbit’s waist. Bilbo began to loosen the ties on Bofur’s shirt when the dwarf groaned and reached to stop the Bilbo’s hand.

 

“We’d best stop before we get too carried away,” Bofur explained to the pouting hobbit. 

 

 

Bilbo sighed, then pulled himself up into a sitting position. He placed the hat back on Bofur’s head and said, “Well, we’d best make our way back to the others. Your brother sounded very worried about you.”

 

Bofur straightened the hat on his head, and then began to tidy up his clothes, Bilbo stood up and mirrored Bofur’s actions. Bofur reached for Bilbo’s hand and asked, “Now, are ye prepared to deal with his worry when I tell him I’m moving to yer Shire? We won’t hear the end of it for days, and ye’ll be signing up for a lifetime of visits marked by his many concerns fer my health and happiness.”

 

“I - well - you’d return to the Shire with me? I thought, well, after we did so much to win back Erebor, that you would want to stay,” Bilbo replied. He took a deep breath as he waited to Bofur to reply, trying to still the quick beating of his heart.

 

“Oh, aye. I hadn’t realized how many ghosts live in these halls. Add to them Thorin and his nephews, well...” Bofur trailed off.

 

“It’s not the home you had hoped for?” Bilbo offered.

 

“No, it’s not. But the journey to win it brought me you, and that’s close enough to what I’d dreamed of to make it all worth it,” Bofur replied. Bilbo tugged on Bofur’s hand and began to walk towards the hall back to the center of Erebor.

 

“Now, I’d like to ask your cousin for his permission to marry, so we might have some happiness in all this grief. Do you think three weeks would be too short an engagement? I don’t want to offend anyone after such a bloody battle, but I’m not entirely sure I can wait much longer and remain proper,” Bilbo said as he pulled Bofur along. The dwarf replied with a loud laugh and Bilbo took that to be an agreement to his proposal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Leaper182 and Melvin for your work with Beta'ing. 
> 
> I will probably (eventually) do a follow up fic with the wedding, but I make no promises.


End file.
